


And In The Darkness Bind Them

by ms_katonic



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2011-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 113,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the new Defence teacher starts putting ideas into the heads of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, it's asking for trouble.  Sure enough, things don't go as either of them had planned, leaving Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ginny and Luna stranded in the past.  Their mission: save the world, save the princess, find a way home and possibly hardest of all, save Draco Malfoy from himself.  However, there is a problem.  How do you save the princess from the Doom of Men when not only does she not want to be saved, your entire world depends on her marrying a mortal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Lord of the Rings parts rely on both book and movie canon - I like both, so am mixing them, however the books will probably dominate.  I apologise in advance for any errors in the Sindarin - I don't speak the language, so it's inevitable it won't be perfect.  As far HP goes, this is set in Harry's sixth year.  While I've tried to stick with HP canon up to the end of OotP as much as possible (for once) the Lord of the Rings storyline will, of necessity, be AU.  
>    
> Rated PG13 as there is some swearing, and also a bit of violence, although nothing too graphic.  There'll be some romance, but no sex scenes.    
>    
> STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  Lord of the Rings and all the races, lands and characters therein are the property of the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema.  I am just copying the master.  The above disclaimers and rating info applies to all subsequent chapters.  
>  

_Prologue_

Beyond time, beyond space, yet within touching distance of all parts of both, lies the land of Valinor.  Home of the Valar, who are unto us as gods; home of the Elves, the Elder Race who were before the coming of our kind; a land of peace and unity that has yet seen darkness, a paradise that is yet only a reflection of the true paradise beyond.

And even in paradise, the gods can know sorrow.

Varda, Lady of the Stars, She Who Even The Shadow Fears, has ever watched humanity from her celestial viewpoint.  Ever has Earendil the Mariner, who is both Morning and Evenstar, brought her news from his unending journey.  Ever has Varda felt their pain as her own.  But unlike her sister, Nienna the Mourner, Varda is not one to sit idle.

“They have suffered enough,” she whispered to her children the stars one night.

“Who has, my dear?” Manwe, Lord of the Air and mightiest of the Valar, asked her.  He had noticed his wife staring into the sky, communing intently with the stars above, seeking news, seeking stories of the world of men, and would know what secrets her mind held.

Varda indicated with a flick of her wrist, and a series of images passed before them.  Of a Ranger of Middle Earth with a broken sword.  Of that same Ranger old and grey, in the robes and crown of a king, lying dead on a funeral bier.  Of a seemingly young maiden robed in black and veiled, watching over the dead king with tears in her eyes, dark hair hiding ears that, unlike those of her dead husband, were pointed.  Of a man on a far shore, looking very similar to the not-so-young widow, and at his side a blonde woman, both with the same pointed ears, staring desperately into the east, hoping for a ship that both knew would never come.  Of a dark-haired man with striking blue eyes and an odd resemblance to the Ranger-King, falling back through a tattered veil, never quite knowing what had hit him.  Of a green-eyed boy with a scar on his forehead screaming and trying to get at the man, prevented only by the quick reactions of one haunted by the Beast.  Of a Halfling with pale, almost translucent skin and soulful blue eyes, clutching at an old wound, face screwed up in pain.  All these images passed before Manwe’s eyes in an instant.

“They suffer much,” the Vala observed.  “But is it right to change the fate of the world for the sake of these few?”

“I would not change Middle Earth’s ultimate fate,” Varda replied.  “But their souls cry out to me, and I would help them if I could.”  She turned to Manwe, eyes set in a steely look that said that if Manwe did not help her, she would go it alone.  “Well, husband?”

Manwe bowed deeply, a sardonic smile on his fair features. 

“My dear Lady, I have never sought to keep you from doing anything you might wish to do.  However, I would not advise you to undertake this alone.  Have you spoken with our Feanturi kin?”

“Vaire and Namo?”  Namo presided over the Halls of Mandos, where the souls of dead Elves went, while his wife Vaire wove the stories of all who walked in mortal life.  Between the two of them, most of the mortal world fell under their purview.  “Why, Manwe, my dear, are you assisting me after all?”

Manwe smiled cryptically.  “Merely pointing you towards a possible path.  What you and Vaire decide to weave is up to you.”  Bowing, he took his leave of the Star-Kindler, leaving her alone with her thoughts.  At length, Varda began to smile.  Casting her voice out on the wind, she addressed herself to one of the younger Elves, a Wood Elf of Middle Earth, who had been one of the last to make the journey to Valinor.

“_Greenleaf, I have need of you…”_

A pause, then the reply, brought back to her on the breeze.

“_O Elbereth, I am yours to command.”_

Varda smiled and began to issue instructions.  Finally she finished, and having bid goodbye to the edhel, she turned and made her way to the Halls of Mandos, where the second piece of her plan lay lying in wait.   A descendant of Numenor and Imladris, and a Champion in his mortal lifetime, whose name translated roughly as the Brightest Star in the Darkness, who had fallen in battle and found himself among the Elvenkind.  His mortal family might not be exactly wholesome, but they had done well in naming their son at least.  Naming him for a star meant that they’d inadvertently dedicated him to Varda the Star-Kindler.  And Varda meant to make good use of her newest servant…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the new Defence teacher starts putting ideas into the heads of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, it's asking for trouble.  Sure enough, things don't go as either of them had planned, leaving Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ginny and Luna stranded in the past with a worse Dark Lord than Voldemort to deal with.

“This is a really bad idea,” Pansy Parkinson muttered as she followed Draco Malfoy into Hogwarts Library.

“You would say that, Pan,” Draco replied, sounding more confident than he felt. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Sense of adventure?” Pansy seethed. “I’ll tell you where my sense of adventure is, it’s back in the Serpents’ Nest, in bed. Which, come to think of it, is where the rest of me should be! Goodnight.” She turned to go, at least until Draco stopped her.

“Come on, Pansy,” he coaxed. “Are you sure you don’t want a chance to fulfil your destiny?”

Pansy looked as if she wanted to do no such thing; however, she gritted her teeth and followed Draco to the Restricted Section, quietly wondering how she could kill the new Defence teacher and make it look like an accident. While Professor Calenlass’s lessons were admittedly more interesting than Umbridge’s last year, the tall, bespectacled, blond professor had the disturbing knack of putting ideas into the heads of his students. One of the less intelligent ideas in Pansy's opinion had been to make idle talk about a book in the Restricted Section that allegedly would show the reader a way to achieve their full potential. Draco had proven fertile ground indeed for such words, and had spent the entire evening bragging about it in the common room, claiming that with this book he could show Potter who was boss once and for all. And so, armed with only their wands, Prefect badges and a note from Snape, Draco and a highly unwilling Pansy were sneaking into the Library late one night to find it.

However, it seemed Professor Calenlass hadn’t just stirred up Draco Malfoy’s ambitions. As the two Slytherins approached the shelf where the so-called Red Book was kept, the unmistakeable voice of one Ron Weasley split the air.

“Fat lot of good that is, if we can’t even read the bloody thing.”

“Ron!” Hermione Granger hissed. “Keep your voice down! You don’t want to attract attention!”

“Great,” Draco muttered. “Fan-bollocking-tastic. Every good idea I have, every single sodding one of them, and that bloody Mudblood and her ginger boyfriend get there first. Bet Potter’s there too.” A sneer crossed his face at these words. “Trying to fulfil his destiny, is he? Good luck to him. He’ll need all the help he can get once my Aunt Bella gets hold of him.”

“Ron, it’s in Tengwar,” said Hermione impatiently. “It’s an ancient alphabet from a civilisation that disappeared in the last Ice Age.”

“Can you read it?” This was Harry, sounding strained.

“No,” Hermione sighed, frustrated. “Even if I could transcribe it, there’s any one of a number of languages that use it, and most of them we just aren’t able to translate.”

“God, something she can’t read,” Pansy whispered. “Bet that’s a first.” She had come to stand behind Draco, and the two of them were now watching through a gap in the shelves behind the Gryffindors. Draco noticed for the first time that it wasn’t just Potter, Granger and Weasley poring over the book. Weasley’s little sister was also there, along with a blonde Ravenclaw who Draco vaguely recalled having hung around with them last year.

“So why did Professor Calenlass tell us about it then?” Ginny said, frowning. “I mean, he must have known none of us would be able to read it.”

“It’s not the words that are important,” the Ravenclaw, who the world knew as Luna, said softly. “It’s the Book itself.” The Gryffindors seemed not to hear her.

“Well, is there a glossary at the back or anything?” said Ron hopefully, flipping the pages over. “Maybe there’s an English translation or something.”

“There isn’t,” Hermione snapped, her patience wearing thin. “I already looked. It’s all in Tengwar.”

Harry swore, thumping the desk. “There must be a way to read it!” he snapped. “There has to be! I’m not giving up on this so easily, Hermione! I can’t!”

Hermione laid a hand on Harry’s arm in an attempt to pacify him.

“Yes, and we’ll find it, Harry. We just need time.”

“Time?” Harry yelled. “We don’t have time! People out there are dying - you’ve seen the headlines! Voldemort is killing people left, right and centre. I have to stop him, Hermione. I have to.” The anger faded, and now Harry just sounded like a frightened child. “I have to find out what’s in this book, how it works. I have to find out how I kill him. How I kill Voldemort.”

“If you find the key, the Book will open its secrets to you,” said Luna quietly. “All you have to do is find the key.”

Behind the shelves, Pansy was smirking at Draco. “Well,” she purred, “looks like your bright idea’s over already. The Book’s no use if no one can read it, is it?”

Draco, however, wasn’t so sure. Unlike the Gryffindors, he’d heard every word Luna had been saying, and he wasn’t shy in taking advantage. Beckoning to Pansy, he strode out from behind the shelves, grinning triumphantly.

“What’s this?” Draco sneered. “Inter-house slumber party? Notice you didn’t invite any Slytherins though. Mind if we join you?”

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Ron growled at him, standing protectively in front of Ginny and Hermione. “We don’t want you here.”

“They don’t want us, Pansy,” Draco pouted. “Did you hear that? I’m wounded.”

Pansy appeared rather more blasé about things.

“They never do want Slytherins at their little parties,” Pansy sneered. “Rather like last year. Not one Slytherin invited to their little vigilante sessions, not one. Much good it did you, there’s a whole host of Slytherins who would have been all too willing to help you out.”

“I bet there are,” Ginny snorted. “Help us where though? Into You-Know-Who’s dungeons, I expect.”

For some reason, Pansy’s face grew sad for a brief instant. “Not necessarily,” she said softly. However, the usual hard look was soon back.

Draco just sneered. “Well, tough. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

“Awfully confident for someone who’s outnumbered, aren’t you, Malfoy?” Ginny countered tartly. Almost in tandem, brother and sister began reaching for their wands, Ginny to tackle Pansy, while Ron prepared to launch himself at Draco.

“You won’t throw me out,” Draco smiled back. “Because I know how to use that Book of yours.” Moving as swiftly as the snake that was his house emblem, he reached out and grabbed Luna by the wrist.

The Gryffindors all leapt to their feet.

“Luna!” Hermione cried.

“Let her go!” Ron yelled. “Or I’ll, I’ll…”

“Or you’ll what?” Draco sneered. “Make me eat slugs? Like you did in second year? Watch me tremble.”

“Let her go, Malfoy,” said Harry. Although quiet, his voice carried an undercurrent of menace that left everyone in no doubt that Draco was in trouble. “Or I will make you regret you didn’t get sent to Durmstrang after all.”

“I think not,” said Draco, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You see, unlike you, I was paying attention.” He shook his head, grinning. “You poor, foolish Gryffindors. You had the answer in front of you all the time, and you didn’t even notice it.” He dragged an unresisting Luna towards the table, where Hermione stood protectively over the Book. “This little one knows how to read it. Don’t you, little Lunatic?”

The Gryffindors turned to stare at Luna, their faces showing various degrees of shock and surprise.

“You know?” Ginny gasped. Luna nodded silently.

“But how?” asked Hermione in wonder.

“And why didn’t you tell us?” Ron demanded.

“She tried to three times, but you just ignored her,” said Pansy snidely. “Good thing some of us were listening, you know, or you could have been here all night.”

Harry paid her no attention. “Luna,” he said softly, “can you read Tengwar?”

Luna nodded, smiling despite Draco holding her captive. “Oh yes. My mum taught me when I was little. She studied lots of texts like that. I could read and write in Tengwar before I could English.” She nodded at the Book. “It’s in Sindarin.”

“_Sindarin??_” Hermione shrieked. She grabbed hold of Ron, eyes shining. “Oh my god, that’s a really ancient language! Hardly anyone can read Sindarin!” She turned back to Luna, apparently forgetting Draco was still holding on to her. “Luna, can you tell us what it says?”

“Luna’s telling _you_ nothing,” said Draco sharply. Spinning Luna around, he dropped down to her level, and lowered his voice.

“How do you use it, Luna?” he said, sounding almost kind. “What do I need to do?”

“Place your hand on the book’s cover,” said Luna calmly. Draco let her go and reached out for the book, a greedy glint in his eyes. Hermione made to snatch it away from him, until Luna stopped him.

“No, Hermione,” she said. “It has to be him, you see.” She opened her bag and drew nearer, producing a freshly sharpened quill. Draco, smirking in triumph, took the Book from Hermione and placed his hand on its leather cover.

“See, Granger?” Draco bragged. “Some things just won’t respond to Mudbloods like you.”

Hermione glared at him, and both Harry and Ron made as if to attack the Slytherin, but neither followed through. If the truth were told, they were secretly curious as to what Luna had in mind.

“What next, Luna?” Draco asked smugly.

“It needs blood to activate the magic,” said Luna, fingering her quill. “The blood of a descendant of the ones whose language that is. My mother’s blood would have worked, but my father’s half-blood, so my blood isn’t pure enough. But yours is.” Quicker than anyone could see, Luna darted forward, quill in hand, and stabbed the point into Draco’s hand, slashing it across him in one swift motion. Draco screamed in pain, and snatched his hand away, but not before the blood had run down his skin and started leaching into the Book.

Draco, clutching his maimed hand, spun round to face the Ravenclaw, face twisted in rage.

“You little bitch!” he shouted. “You tricked me!” Luna, to her credit, remained silent, staring back at Draco with those impassive eyes of hers. Then, a scream from Hermione distracted everyone.

“The Book!” she cried. “Look at it!”

Draco turned, and fell transfixed, as was everyone else. The Book, previously a normal looking tome, had started to glow an odd shade of pale green.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” said Ginny uneasily, starting to back away. Her fears were confirmed when the Book started to levitate, rising slowly into the air.

“Oh god,” Pansy whimpered, edging away. Ron seemed to share her feelings, knocking over his chair in an attempt to put some distance between him and the Book.

“Hermione,” said Harry nervously, already the furthest from it, “get away from there. Please?”

Hermione didn’t seem to hear him. She was still in her seat, eyes wide, staring at the Book as if unable to look away.

“Hermione?” said Ron, stepping towards her. “Hermione??”

Hermione didn’t answer, slowly rising to her feet, eyes not leaving the book for a second. Entranced, she raised her hand and reached for the book. But before her fingertips could touch it, a bolt of light shot out from the Book and grabbed her by the throat. The trance broke, and now Hermione tried to scream and struggle, but it was too late. The Book held her fast.

“One Book to rule them all,” said Luna softly. No one heard, distracted as they were by a panic-stricken Ron rushing over to Hermione’s side.

“HERMIONE!” he screamed, reaching out to touch her. As soon as he did so, Hermione shrieked in pain and a burst of raw magic sent Ron flying. He collided with the far wall and collapsed to the ground, concussed.

“Ron!” Ginny sobbed, watching her brother fall. She turned to Harry. “Do something!” she begged. Harry nodded wordlessly, but before he could do anything, another tendril of light had lashed out and caught him by the throat too. Gasping for breath, Harry could only kick and struggle in vain against the magic that was lifting him off the floor, holding him prisoner.

“One Book to find them,” Luna whispered, watching Harry struggle against the enchantment holding him fast.

“This is all your fault, Malfoy!” Ginny was screaming by this time. “If you hadn’t been so bloody greedy!”

“My fault?” Draco snapped back. “Blame your little Ravenclaw friend, she was the one who told me how to activate it- argh!” The next tendril had snared Draco Malfoy in its clutches.

“Help… me!” Draco managed to choke out.

“Draco!” Pansy cried, racing over in a vain attempt to free him. However, she too found herself knocked back by sheer force of magic, colliding with a chair and falling to the ground in a tangled heap.

“One Book to bring them all,” said Luna casually. This time, Ginny could hardly fail to notice her friend’s unusual behaviour.

“Luna, what is this?” Ginny demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let them go, it’s not funny any more!”

Luna didn’t answer. She only looked on in sorrow as the fourth and final tendril caught Ginny Weasley in its clutches.

“And ‘gainst the Darkness bind them,” she finished, watching Ginny scream and fight the magic that held her.

By this time, Pansy had extricated herself from the chair and staggered to her feet.

“You,” she hissed at Luna, spitting in rage. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?”

Luna turned to stare cow-eyed at Pansy, before turning her gaze back to the Book again.

“You little _cow_, Lovegood!” Pansy snarled, drawing her wand. “Put them down _this instant_ or I go straight to Professor Snape, and when he finds out about this, I swear…” She never got the chance to say exactly what Snape would do. Before she could do anything, Luna had walked over to where the Book was hovering, and, placing both hands on it, she recited the final line of the poem.

“In the lands of Arda where the Shadow lies,” she intoned solemnly. As she said these words, a wave of brilliant white light flared out in all directions, filling the entire room. Pansy, rendered temporarily blind, found herself knocked to the floor again by the sheer force of the power. A rush of noise in her ear, like waves on a beach, and then the light was gone and all was silence. Apart from the dull thud as the Book, now back to normal and apparently harmless, fell back to the table with a crash.

Pansy, blinking in an attempt to clear her head, slowly dragged herself to her feet.

“Draco?” she called anxiously. That blast of magic had done enough to her - what sort of effect had it had on the others? She soon got her answer as the truth dawned on her - apart from Ron Weasley clawing his way back into consciousness on the other side of the room, she was the only one in sight. The others, Draco, Luna, Granger, Potter, Weasleyette, were nowhere to be seen.

“Harry?” Ron called out, clutching his head and groaning. “Ginny? Hermione?” On receiving no answer, he opened his eyes and looked around, staring in horror at the empty room.

“Where are they?” he whispered. “Where’d they go?” He noticed Pansy staring at him. “What did you and Malfoy do with them?” he yelled, face going crimson. “Tell me!”

Pansy, never a shrinking violet at the best of times, wasted no time in shouting back at him.

“Don’t blame me for this! Blame that Ravenclaw bitch! She started all this! She was the one who cast that spell on the book!” Pansy raved. “She was the one who just watched while it took them all prisoner and, and… recited bloody poetry!”

“Poetry?” Ron said, puzzled. Why would anyone bother to recite poetry when their friends were being taken prisoner by some Dark tome? And yet… it was such a Luna thing to do. “What poem was it?”

Pansy shrugged. “I don’t know. Some gibberish about one book to rule the world or something.”

“One book to rule them all, Pansy,” a gently chiding voice spoke up from the shadows. Both Ron and Pansy turned to look, their hearts sinking as their Defence teacher emerged into view, grey eyes dancing with something that could have been laughter. “Based on a millennia old verse, although the original was for an altogether different purpose.” Professor Calenlass, moving gracefully in silver-trimmed robes of green velvet, reached out with impossibly slender fingers and tucked the book under his arm.

“Professor, do you know what just happened?” Ron croaked, exchanging nervous looks with Pansy. The Slytherin girl said nothing, a lump in her throat. For the first time in her life, Pansy had the same fears as Ron Weasley.

Calenlass’s response was not reassuring. “Oh yes,” he smiled. “Luna’s so talented, isn’t she? I knew she was the right choice.”

“Right choice for what?” Pansy demanded. “Don’t tell me you were in on this as well!”

“Never mind that, where the hell are my friends?” Ron snapped. “What have you done with them?”

Calenlass’s eyes lost their usual sparkle at this. “They are where they are needed, Ron,” he said gently. “Please trust me.”

“Trust you?” Pansy flared. “You’ve just banished our friends to who knows where, and you want us to trust you? Bring Draco back, then maybe I’ll trust you!”

“I can’t,” said Calenlass sadly. “Only when the stars are right can I do that.”

“You,” Ron breathed, gathering his wits. “You’re working for him, aren’t you? You-Know-Who!”

Calenlass’s head jerked up as if he’d been slapped. “No,” he said firmly. “You’re wrong. I do not serve the Dark Lord. Either of them.” Tucking the book under his arm, he indicated for both children to follow him. “Come.  There is much to discuss, and quickly too.  If my calculations prove accurate, the other four should be arriving soon.”

“Other four?” said Ron, now totally bewildered. “What other four?”

“The four we will need here,” said Calenlass, as he started to walk away.

Pansy edged nearer to Ron.

“He’s insane,” she muttered.

Ron nodded fervently. “You distract him, I’ll knock him out with a Stunning Charm. Then you get a teacher.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Pansy murmured. Unfortunately, Calenlass had heard them.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he said quietly, turning to face them with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “I have been around for many more years than you, and I would wager I am more than a match for two teenage Istari.”

 

Ron glared at him, gripping his wand and silently challenging him to prove it.  Slowly but surely, Pansy found herself reaching for her own.  She never thought she’d be joining Ron Weasley in a fight, and against a teacher no less, but there came a time when even the most well behaved Slytherin could take no more.  And Pansy had never been the most well behaved Slytherin.

 

Ever so slowly, as Ron and Calenlass stared each other out, Pansy slid her wand into her hand and aimed the tip at the blond teacher.  The Stunning Charm had barely formed on her lips, when behind him, a dark shape flashed out of the shadows and cried “_Expelliarmus!_”

 

Ron stared in surprise, while Pansy shrieked in rage as her wand went flying.  However, rage soon turned to shocked betrayal as she recognised the dark haired wizard picking her wand up.

 

“No!” she cried, as the one teacher she’d always trusted to fight her corner strode in to view.  “You can’t be helping him, you can’t!”

 

“I wouldn’t say I was helping him,” Snape replied smoothly.  “However, I won’t deny we have certain aims in common, do we not, _mellon-nin_?”  This last was addressed to Calenlass, who actually seemed pleased to see Snape.

 

“_Mae govannen_, Severus,” Calenlass smiled.  “It is as you hoped, the son of Lucius and the Boy Who Lived took the bait.”

 

“You total-!” Ron proceeded to yell a string of obscenities at his Potions Master.  For once, Pansy was inclined to agree with him.

 

“Who else?” Snape asked, still looking at the Defence teacher.  “Granger, I suppose.”

 

“Yes, and the youngest Weasley,” Calenlass confirmed.  “And also the _tithen-elvelleth_.”

 

“She’s good for something then,” Snape noted. 

 

“You were in league!” Ron shouted, having gone bright crimson.  “All three of you!  You complete and utter c-“

 

“Weasley.”  Snape's voice cut Ron off before he could say another word, which under the circumstances was probably for the best.  “Be quiet.  And twenty points from Gryffindor for foul language.”

 

Ron opened his mouth to protest, until Pansy dug her elbow into his ribs.

 

“Where is Draco,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded.  “Tell me where he’s gone, where you’ve sent him.  And tell me why I shouldn’t go straight to the Headmaster about this.”

 

“Oh, he knows,” said Calenlass easily.  “Come now, you really don’t think I’d do this without his permission, do you?”

 

“He knows?” Ron echoed.

 

“Of course he knows,” Snape growled.  “Why do you think he hired this excuse for a wizard in the first place?”  He indicated Calenlass, but unlike previous incumbents of the Defence position, there was no hostility in Snape’s eyes.

 

“Now, now, Severus, that’s not nice,” Calenlass pouted.  “But to answer your question, Pansy.  First of all, let me reassure you that I am no servant of Voldemort.  And secondly, I have not kidnapped your friends.”  He drew in a deep breath.  “As I told you before, I have sent them where they are most needed.”

 

“And they’re not needed here?” Ron shouted.  He had gone bright red, fairly simmering with rage at the teacher’s apparent disregard for the importance of the wizarding world’s saviour.  “Professor, Harry’s the Boy Who Lived!  He’s destined to kill You-Know-Who!  Without him, we’re screwed!”  His voice softened as his eyes pleaded with Calenlass to understand just what the loss of Harry meant to the wizarding world.  “Professor, people are going to _die_.”

 

Calenlass lifted his eyes to meet Ron’s.  In them, even Ron could see that Calenlass too knew what was at stake.

 

“People already are dying, Ron,” said Calenlass, heavy-hearted.  “And more will follow whether Harry is here or not.  He is not yet ready to fight your Dark Lord, and… I am not sure he ever will be.”

 

Next to Ron, Pansy felt oddly vindicated.  Hadn’t Draco been saying much the same thing for years?  But speaking of Draco…

 

“What about Draco?” Pansy snapped.  “Why do you need him?  You said you wanted the son of Lucius as well.”

 

“We did.”  Here Snape took up the conversation, his eyes sombre.  “He too needs to be elsewhere.  But whereas we needed Potter to go elsewhere and save a world, Draco needs to go elsewhere to save himself.”

 

“What from?” Ron snorted.  “Getting killed by the Aurors?”

 

“This is no laughing matter, Weasley!” Snape hissed at the boy.  “Do not make jokes about your schoolmates getting recruited by the Dark Lord.  For too many, it is already becoming reality, and I don’t want to see my brightest and best destroying themselves.”

 

“Exactly,” said Calenlass, nodding fervently.  “That’s why I hoped Draco would be among those to take the bait.  If he stays in this world, he will almost certainly take the Mark, if he hasn't already, and one of two things will happen: either he will become one of Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters, or he will realise he has made a mistake and end up getting killed for his trouble.”

 

Pansy winced at these words.  Next to her, Ron still couldn’t see why that last one was necessarily a bad thing; however, he decided to keep that to himself.

 

“So where have they gone then?” Ron demanded.  “And what’s Luna’s part in all this?  How did she know how to send them there?”

 

Calenlass laughed at this.  “Well Ron, as to that, it was entirely down to Luna’s own perceptiveness.  She noticed my interest in ancient pre-Ice Age cultures, an interest her mother shared, and asked me about it.  We talked and I discovered that not only had her mother told her all about them, but Luna could understand both spoken and written Sindarin.  So I asked for her help and she proved willing.”

 

“Willing for what?” Pansy snapped.  “You still haven’t told us where they are!”

 

“True,” Snape put in.  “We may as well tell them.  You know we’ll have to eventually anyway.  When Arthur and Molly Weasley, Remus Lupin, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Xenophilus Lovegood and Narcissa Malfoy all arrive wanting to know where their offspring and charges are, I do need to be able to present some sort of explanation.”

 

Calenlass nodded.  “As to that, the answer is very simple.  They have been transported to the time the Red Book was originally written.”

 

Ron turned to look at Pansy in dismay.  She too looked horrorstruck – Hermione had said it was written in the script of a pre-Ice Age civilisation, and even Ron, with his limited knowledge of Muggle science, knew that the last Ice Age had been years ago.

 

“But that must have been thousands of years ago!” Pansy cried, echoing Ron’s own thoughts.  “You mean to tell me they’re trapped in the past?”

 

Calenlass nodded. 

 

“But you said that book would help the wielder achieve their destiny!” Ron flared, ears going crimson.  “Not fling them through a portal to who knows where!”

 

“I did,” Calenlass admitted.  “And yet I did not lie.  Their destinies, for good or ill, lie in Arda.  Not here.”

 

“But… the prophecy,” Ron stammered.  “I mean, Harry’s meant to fight and kill the Dark Lord, right?”

 

“Very true,” Calenlass replied.  “But not necessarily your Lord Voldemort.”

 

“There’s another Dark Lord?” Pansy whispered, voice faint. 

 

“There is.  Or rather, there was,” said Calenlass.  “Every age has its own pretender to that title.  And Harry and your friends are needed to fight the Dark Lord of the Third Age.”

 

Both Ron and Pansy stared at each other, hardly able to believe what they were hearing.  Pansy turned to Snape.

 

“Professor, what age are we in now?” she hissed.

 

“Sixth,” came the nonchalant reply.  “Although they say we are due for an age change soon, who knows.”

 

Ron was having none of this.  He turned back to Calenlass

 

“You’ll never get away with this!”

 

Calenlass held up his hands and shrugged.  “Ron, it is done.  They are in the past, and everyone’s futures are in their hands.  In that at least, nothing has changed.”

 

“Like hell!” Ron shouted, clenching his fists.  “We need Harry now!”

 

“No, Weasley, you do not!” Snape twisted to face Ron, infuriated.  “Have you been paying no attention?  Potter is _not_ needed here – this is a fight he cannot possibly win!  It will be two years before he leaves school, two years before everyone finally stops mollycoddling the boy enough for him to make the attempt.  I for one am not prepared to wait until then for the Dark Lord to be disposed of!”  The Potions Master folded his arms and glared at Ron. 

 

Ron drew himself up to his full height and prepared to let rip.  Teacher or no, Ron was not about to take that lying down.

 

“Why, you…” he began.  Fortunately for Snape, a blaze of light behind them alerted to the second phase of Calenlass’s magic kicking in.  As they watched, the light grew brighter and brighter, until it flared out in a silent explosion more horrific for its very noiselessness.  A rush of air so cold it could have been from a tomb raced over them, chilling them all, before the light had faded again, and all was normal.  Apart, that is, from the four individuals lying unconscious on the floor.

 

“Who are they?” Ron asked, his voice hoarse.

 

“The four we need,” Calenlass breathed, making his way over to them.

 

“Counter-balance,” Snape offered by way of explanation.  “We send four to their aid, the spell sends four back, with one to work the magic.”

 

“Well, Professor,” Pansy shot back.  “I hope for all our sakes they’re worth it.”  So saying, she followed Calenlass to where he was kneeling next to the nearest one.  Shrugging, Ron followed her, with Snape behind him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Is that it?” Pansy’s nose wrinkled in contempt.  “They don’t look like much to me.”

 

“Yeah, but they’re unconscious,” Ron pointed out.  “I mean, they might be really powerful warriors when they’re awake.”

 

Pansy looked as if she doubted this very much.  Snape appeared to agree with her.

 

“Calenlass, forgive me my cynicism, but they don’t appear particularly intimidating to me.”  He did appear to have a point.  The four individuals laid out on the library floor were roughly four to five feet high, wearing clothes that looked strange even to those who spent most of their lives in robes.  Strangest of all were their feet, which were unshod and covered in thick hair.

 

“Bloody hell, they’ve got hairier feet than Fred,” Ron muttered.

 

“A peculiarity of their species,” Calenlass informed them absently.  “They are Periannath, or Halflings, called Hobbits in their own words.”

 

“Yeah, but half-what?” Pansy murmured. 

 

“Half-pints by the look of them,” Ron grinned.  Pansy bit her lip, stifling a giggle.  God, the last thing she needed was to start laughing at Weasley’s feeble jokes.

 

“Are they meant to look so pale?” Pansy asked, reaching out to touch the forehead of the one nearest her, a relatively slender blond with the curly hair typical of his kind.  She recoiled as her fingers brushed against the clammy skin.  “Eww!” she squealed, rubbing her fingers against her robes.

 

“Calenlass, what’s happened?” said Snape, dropping to his knees next to the other teacher.  “Should they not be regaining consciousness around now?”

 

Calenlass shook his head, doubt in his eyes.  “No,” he shook his head.  “No, they should be a little dazed, but nothing like this.”  He stared at them, seemingly at a loss.  “They shouldn’t be like this,” he whispered.  He spun round to face Snape, blue-grey eyes flashing in fear.  “It shouldn’t be like this, Severus, it shouldn’t be!”

 

 “Great,” Pansy glared.  “I hope you all realise that this is _not_ boosting my confidence in you one little bit.  If this is what Draco’s like right now, I am going be so cross you wouldn’t believe!”

 

“Calm yourself, Miss Parkinson,” said Snape, taking the pulse of the hobbit with short dark hair and strangely delicate features.  “I don’t believe that will be necessary.  This trance is oddly reminiscent of that caused by exposure to Dementors.”  He turned to Calenlass.  “I’ll get some Revitalising Potion.  In the mean time, keep them warm.”

 

“But what about Draco?” Pansy cried.

 

“And Harry, Hermione and Ginny?” Ron demanded.  “Are they going to be like this too?  Suppose they’ve landed in mortal danger?”

 

Calenlass and Snape exchanged worried glances.

 

“I’m sure they haven’t,” Calenlass began. 

 

“But you don’t know, right?” Ron challenged him.

 

“Weasley, from what I’ve heard of Arda, the whole world consists of mortal danger,” Snape replied brusquely.  “However, that has never deterred Potter from anything before, and yet somehow he has not yet managed to get himself killed.  I am sure he can cope.”

 

Neither Ron nor Pansy shared his confidence; however, as Snape strode out to find the necessary potions, and Calenlass began to sing quietly over the hobbits in Sindarin, there didn’t seem to be anything they could do.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Unfortunately for the five that had gone, there was no such welcoming party at their end. 

 

“Draco!  Wake up!” 

 

Draco muttered as someone, a female someone from the sound of it, prodded him in the side.

 

“Go ‘way,” he mumbled, trying to stay in bed just for a few more minutes.  Although come to think of it, his blankets must have slipped off in the night, and he couldn’t feel the pillow at all.  The fire must have gone out too, because he was freezing cold.  And he’d had the oddest of dreams, all about a book and a quill cutting across his hand, and being taken prisoner along with Potter, Granger, She-Weasley, and…

 

Draco opened his eyes, as he realised glumly that it had been no dream.  The first thing he noticed was that it was dark.  The second was that it wasn’t wholly dark – a faint green luminescence gave enough light to see that he was underground in a cave or chamber of some kind.  And the third was that Luna Lovegood was crouching next to him – and she looked terrified.

 

“Draco!” Luna whispered.  

 

“What?” Draco snapped at her.  “Planning to go for my other hand now, are you?”

 

Luna shook her head, ignoring the insult.  Her eyes were fixed on a spot behind him.  Draco’s ears caught a sound, a scratching noise, as if something was slouching towards him.  A shiver ran up Draco’s spine.  Somehow, he knew that if he turned around, he’d regret it.  However, Luna was standing there, staring at him with wide blue eyes, and despite the treacherous little bitch having stabbed him and sent him who knew where, there was something in him that couldn’t resist the plea in those eyes, the silent plea that told him that if he did nothing, no one would.  Clutching his wand, he turned around.

 

Before him were three stone blocks, much like the one he’d been lying on.  Each one was occupied by one of the others, with Ginny nearest him, and Harry on the one furthest away. But that wasn’t what had scared Luna.  Bending over Harry Potter’s prone form was a creature from Draco’s nightmares.  Clothed in rags, pale, skeletal, with breath that rattled against almost exposed ribs, it looked like a Dementor, and smelt like a corpse. 

 

“Oh god,” Draco whispered, realising where they were.  He’d grown up near Stonehenge, out on Salisbury Plain, surrounded by barrows from England’s prehistoric past.  One afternoon, he’d had the misfortune to get caught in the rain and ended up seeking shelter inside one of the sinister mounds.  Next thing he’d realised, the barrow’s inhabitants had rattled up from their tombs and come to see who disturbed their slumber.  He’d been fortunate that day – his father had found him in time.  Lucius wouldn’t be here this time.

 

Draco screamed, his cry echoing off the walls and reverberating around the dark chamber.  Nearest him, Ginny jerked awake, grabbing her wand and sitting up, heart thudding loudly.  Hermione’s eyes flicked open, but she didn’t move, just glancing from side to side as she took in her surroundings.

 

Whereas Harry opened his eyes, took one look at the thing leaning over him, snatched his wand and screamed “_Expecto Patronum!_”

 

The Patronus did its job – in fact, Harry would later look back and think about how remarkably easy it had been, far more so than normal.  The wight was flung back, crashing in to the far wall and sinking to the floor.  But it was not held back for long.  The Patronus could keep it at bay, but not kill it.  Slowly, it pulled itself up off the floor and screeched.  In response, three other wights emerged from the shadows at the back of the barrow, shuffling forward with their clawed fingers raised and hideous moans emanating from what had once been throats.

 

Harry stared, shocked into paralysis by the easy recovery.  However, he did not stay still long.  Raising his wand, he cast the Patronus Charm again and again, forcing the wights back into one corner where they continued to rage impotently.

 

“Help me!” Harry yelled.  “I can’t keep this up for long!”

 

“What do you need us to do?” Ginny called back, grabbing her wand in one hand and a discarded sword from the floor in the other.

 

“Find a way to kill them, or the exit!”  Harry cried.

 

“Any ideas, Hermione?” Ginny asked hopefully.  The older girl was usually the one to come up with the good ideas.  However, Hermione just shrugged.

 

“Decapitation and fire work for most things.”

 

Ginny’s eyes lit up at this.  “Leave it to me,” she grinned.  Running towards Harry, she screamed “_Incendio!_”  A ball of fire erupted from her wand, narrowly avoiding singeing Harry as it flew over his shoulder, and landed squarely amongst the wights, setting fire to their rags and causing their desiccated lungs and decaying windpipes to produce banshee-like screams of rage. 

 

“Alright,” Harry murmured, as the flames illuminated his face.  “That did it!”

 

“Look out!” Hermione screamed, as one of the flaming wights made a break for it.  Harry turned, just too late to stop it grabbing him… or at least it would have done if Ginny hadn’t run it through with her sword.  Jerking the blade upwards, she sliced neatly through its chest and neck, before twirling the sword and expertly decapitating it.

 

“Thanks!” Harry gasped.  Ginny just smiled, picking up another sword from the pile of grave goods nearest them. 

 

“Here.  Take this,” she told him.  “There’s still three to go.”  So saying she turned and went for the next wight, while another one made for Harry.  Hermione meanwhile had produced her own wand and was busy blasting fireballs at the third wight.

 

Behind them, Draco noticed Luna tugging at his sleeve.  “What?” he demanded, his patience not running high at the moment.  Luna pointed wordlessly behind them, at what Draco recognised as the exit from the barrow.  It was blocked by a boulder, but it was their best option.

 

“Brilliant,” Draco murmured.  He turned to Luna with a smile.  “You know, you’re a slippery little thing, but I find I like you.  Let’s get out of here.”  Waving his own wand, he levitated the boulder out of the way and prepared to leave, Luna in tow.

 

However, it didn’t have quite the effect he’d intended.  Outside, it was bright daylight, and the sunshine poured into the tomb, lighting up every corner.  Screaming, the wights collapsed into nothing, leaving piles of charred cloth and bone on the floor.

 

Harry and Ginny both lowered their weapons, turning behind to see who had let the light in.

 

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, blinking in the blaze of light.  “Is that you?”

 

“What are you doing?” Hermione demanded, arms folded and glaring suspiciously.

 

“Doing?” Draco stuttered briefly.  For some reason, confessing that he’d been on the edge of abandoning the three Gryffindors to their fate didn’t seem like a good idea, especially not with Ginny brandishing a sword like that.  Faced with this, not to mention Luna’s round eyes gazing up at him innocently, Draco fell back on the tried and trusted technique of lying through his teeth.  He fixed his trademark sneer in place.

 

“Well, duh.  What do you think I was doing?  Letting the sunlight in of course.  Undead things can’t stand sunlight, everyone knows _that._”  _Yes, perfect, nice one Draco, you were saving their lives, not legging it.  Now gloat like hell, and they need never know._

 

“Yes,” Hermione pointed out, “but how did you know it was daylight outside?”

 

Ah.  Good question.  Damn the Mudblood.  Draco was relieved beyond all measure that he had his back to the light and they couldn’t see his face.

 

Draco shrugged.  “I didn’t.  But it had to be worth a try, didn’t it?  At the very least we’d have had a way out.”

 

All three Gryffindors were looking at him very suspiciously.  However, it had saved their lives, so who were they to argue.  Harry lowered his sword, albeit reluctantly.

 

“Fine,” he sighed.  “Well, let’s get out of here and find out where the hell we are.”  He prepared to lead the way out, until Hermione stopped him.

 

“Wait,” she said, eyeing the grave goods scattered around.  “We should take some weaponry while we’re here.  We don’t know what’s out there, and I for one would feel better if we had swords as well as our wands.”

 

Even Draco had to admit that this was a good idea, and they began searching the barrow for suitable weapons.  Harry decided to stick with his sword, while Ginny exchanged hers for an axe.  She also collected a dagger and a bow and arrows for good measure. 

 

“What?” she asked as everyone stared at the amount of weaponry she’d equipped herself with.  “It could be dangerous out there.  A girl can’t be too careful.”

 

Hermione, not exactly accustomed to handling weaponry, simply chose a dagger for herself, while Draco opted for a sword and dagger.  Luna, oddly, chose nothing at all.

 

“You should take something, Luna,” said Ginny, frowning.  “Even if it’s only a dagger.”

 

Luna shook her head, smiling.  “That’s alright, Ginny, I won’t need anything.  Draco will look after me.  Won’t you, Draco?”  Linking arms with the stunned Malfoy, she beamed up at him, apparently confident in the Slytherin’s reliability. 

 

Ginny leaned to whisper in Hermione’s ear.  “Told you she was nuts.”  Hermione was inclined to agree with her.  All three Gryffindors made mental notes to keep an eye on the young Ravenclaw.  Her sense of danger was clearly defective.

 

And then Harry, after taking one last look around the burial chamber, chanced upon the object that, had they but known it, was the whole point of them being there.  Lying on the floor next to the slab he’d been resting on was a simple metal chain, and threaded on that chain was an innocuous looking plain gold ring.  Curious, Harry picked it up to get a better look.

 

“What’s that you’ve got there, Potter?” Draco asked, striding over to him.  “Let me have a look.”

 

“Get off,” Harry snarled, snatching the ring away.  “I saw it first.”  For some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he wanted to keep the ring for himself, and he definitely did not want Draco having it.

 

“Yeah?” Draco growled, feeling an equally strong urge to have the ring himself.  “We’ll see about that!”  He made as if to grab the ring from Harry, and a fight could easily have broken out there and then, had Luna not flung herself in between both boys, screaming,

 

“Draco, no!”  Placing her hands on Draco’s chest, she pushed him away with as much strength as she could summon.  “You mustn’t touch the ring!” she cried.  “It’s cursed!  It’ll bring a slow, lingering death to anyone who carries it!”

 

Draco tore his eyes away from the ring to look at Luna.  She appeared deadly serious, and the usually placid Ravenclaw’s eyes were filled with real fear.  Draco wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not – her father did edit the _Quibbler_ after all.  But then again, she had known how to activate that book, and for some reason best known to herself, she appeared to have attached herself to him.  Maybe Luna knew more than she was telling.  Draco decided that maybe it would be best to leave Harry with the ring for now, at least until they found out more about it.

 

“Actually Potter, on second thoughts you can keep it,” said Draco with a grin.  “I prefer silver jewellery myself.”

 

Harry looked at the ring in his hand.  Was Luna right?  Was it really cursed?  On the one hand, Luna wasn’t exactly the most reliable of people.  On the other, Draco seemed to believe her.  But then again, Draco wasn’t the most reliable of people either.  And the ring did look pretty…  Coming to a decision, he slipped the chain over his head and tucked the ring inside his robes.

 

“I’ll take it anyway,” he announced.  “Can’t do any harm if I just wear it round my neck, right?”

 

No one answered.  Draco was still wearing that superior grin of his, Ginny and Hermione were both looking concerned, while Luna was staring at him with a look that combined fascination and terror.

 

“Come on,” said Hermione, ever the practical one.  “Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Elvish used so far:
> 
> Mae govannen - well met  
> mellon-nin - my friend  
> tithen-elvelleth - little elf-friend (feminine form)  
> edhel – male elf


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As both parties settle in to their respective new worlds, questions are asked but not answered, and Luna in particular has a lot of explaining to do. Meanwhile, Draco is using his aristocrat pureblood status to the full... until someone with a disturbingly familiar face steps into his path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a filler one, but I needed to get it out of the way. Also, I will after this be concentrating on Middle Earth rather than Hogwarts, as there's a lot more happening there. That, and I just love writing Draco.
> 
> Also, I feel I should warn you that I'm planning a slash ship along the lines (ie. a male/male one). It's not a major plot thread, and there won't be any sex scenes, but it will be there. I will not name the characters here, but suffice it to say that they are both adult, human and single in their canon.

The surrounding countryside turned out to be rolling downland, not unlike that near Little Whinging. Nearby, five ponies were gathered, packs on their backs, calmly munching the grass. A look around confirmed that there was no one in sight who might own them.

"They've got to belong to someone," Hermione insisted. "They're tacked up and everything."

"They've been left to fend for themselves if they have," said Ginny, patting one of them.

Harry, who had been investigating some of the panniers, shook his head. "With all the owners' money and provisions on the back? I don't think so."

"I don't think the previous owners intended to leave, Harry," Luna said tentatively. "I'm sure they won't be needing them now." She froze, as Draco clutched at her shoulder, a look of steel on his face.

"Are you now," he said coldly. "So sure these ponies are up for grabs, are you? You know, it strikes me that you seem to know rather more about this whole escapade than you're telling us."

Harry made to intervene, but a touch on his arm from Ginny stopped him.

"He's right, you know," said Ginny. "Luna was reciting a poem, a spell-poem, as that book took us all prisoner. And she knew it needed pure blood to activate too." She turned to Luna with a hard stare. "I think you'd better tell us what's going on, Luna."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," said Hermione with a frown. The four of them were sitting on the ground, surrounding Luna, who seemed worryingly comfortable with the interrogation. "We're in the distant past, somewhere in what will one day be Britain, during the events in the Red Book. Calenlass, for reasons best known to himself, turned the thing in to a Portkey that would activate with the blood of someone from an old pureblooded family descended from the royal family of this time, a Portkey that would take four people into the past, along with whoever activated the spell, if they lingered. And he asked you to help him."

"That's right," Luna nodded.

"And as if that wasn't bad enough," Ginny continued, "Calenlass specifically wanted to send Harry back because he doesn't think he's ready to fight You-Know-Who yet. But by some bizarre logic, he apparently _is_ ready to save this world from its Dark Lord, who makes You-Know-Who look like a boy scout."

"Yes, he is," Luna grinned.

"And in return for our assistance, the spell has sent four people from this world to our time to help against Voldemort," Harry finished. "And these ponies are theirs, which is why you're certain we can use them."

"But you didn't bother to find out what exactly we need to do now we're here, or who we need to look for, or more importantly, how we're meant to get back," Draco said scornfully.

Luna shook her head. "Oh no. Calenlass said the spell would take us where we needed to be and it would all become obvious what we were supposed to do."

Draco got to his feet, indicating the deserted hills around them. "Well, that makes it all so much clearer, doesn't it? Because the path we're meant to take is practically smacking us in the face, isn't it? I mean it's just so obvious which direction we're meant to go in, what with all these bloody hills looking _exactly the same!_"

"Malfoy, that's enough!" Harry snapped, jumping up to face the other boy. "Leave her alone, you're upsetting her." It was true, Luna looked crestfallen at Draco's sharpness. Draco glared back at him, but did back down. Harry turned to the others.

"Well, it looks like we're here now, anyway," he sighed. "So what do we do next? Anyone?"

Hermione got up and made for the ponies. "First things first, we have a look at what clothes they have. Then we can either change into them, or Transfigure our school robes so at least we'll look like we belong here. Then, I think we should find a town. It'll be dark soon, I think, and it'd be nice if we could find an inn or hotel or something. Plus we might be able to find out more about this place, and if there's anyone around here who knows about magic and things. They might be able to help us get home."

Luna shook her head. "We can't go home yet! We haven't done what we need to do!" She immediately began to regret her words, however, as four rather annoyed faces turned to her.

"Luna," said Harry quietly, "we've been very patient with you so far for getting us into this mess. But we're not here of our own will, we don't belong here, and we've got our own war to fight. This isn't my world, and I don't owe it anything. So if I can find a way home, I am going to take it, and this world can sort out its own problems. Got that?"

Luna said nothing, turning beseeching eyes to Draco, of all people. She was to be disappointed, as Draco just shrugged.

"Sorry, Loony Tune, but I'm actually with Potter on this one. You want to stay here and fight Dark Lords, you do that. But I am staying for as long as it takes to get home."

Hanging her head, Luna fell silent. However, as Hermione and Ginny began examining the hoods and cloaks in the ponies' packs and changing uniforms into something to match, she hid her tears and watched them with a steely gaze.

"Very well," she said softly. "But when it comes to the crunch, you'll both find you won't have a choice."

* * *

Warm. Safe, and warm. That was how Frodo Baggins felt as he slowly drifted back into consciousness. The chilling cold, and nightmares of dead things, and terrors best not spoken of, had faded away, as had the feeling of lying on cold, hard stone. In fact, if he hadn't known better, he'd have thought he was in his own bed back in the Shire. Indeed, that was exactly where he thought he was... until a nagging memory of a very vivid dream came back to him, a dream of menacing black-cloaked figures screaming at him as they tried to chase him down on horseback, and of a small golden ring.

"He's coming round," he heard a voice say. It was a boy's voice, thick with curiosity.

"Well don't just stand there then, boy, let the Headmaster get to him." This voice, sharp and irritable, clearly belonged to a grown man, although it wasn't anyone Frodo knew. And Headmaster? It wasn't a term used in the Shire... or at all, come to think of it.

"I want to talk to him," a girl's voice snapped. "I want to know where Draco is!"

"Yes, Miss Parkinson, later," came a voice that reminded Frodo inescapably of Gandalf. "In the meantime, why don't you two young people wait outside with Professor Snape while I talk to our guest." There was a rustling sound, and footsteps walking away. Frodo guessed that he was now alone with the one who sounded a little like Gandalf, if it weren't for the fact that every word sounded strange, with an accent he'd never heard, and a kind of magical shimmer to the words. Slowly, he opened his eyes... and felt his heart leap as his suspicions seemed to be confirmed.

"Gandalf!" he gasped, staring at the old man with a long beard and long grey hair, dressed in what were unquestionably wizard's robes. Even the eyes were similar...but Gandalf did not wear half-moon glasses, and his robes were grey, not blue with gold trim and covered in stars.

The old wizard shook his head sadly.

"Alas, young Halfling, I am not Gandalf. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in which you now find yourself. And you might be...?"

"Frodo. Frodo Baggins. Of the Shire." Frodo looked around the room in confusion. It was a large room, clearly built by Men rather than Hobbits, but a set of curtains shielded him from the rest of it. He was lying in a bed with crisp white sheets, and the whole place bore very little resemblance to any schoolroom of the Shire. "This is a school?"

"That's right," Dumbledore smiled. "For young witches and wizards. This particular room is the hospital wing, where you were taken after you arrived in our library. Your friends are here too - they should be coming around soon."

"My friends -" Frodo sat up, suddenly remembering where he'd been, where he'd been going... and why. He snatched at his neck, desperately searching for the familiar chain. It wasn't there.

"The Ring!" he gasped. Dumbledore looked at him quizzically. "It's not here!" Frodo cried, desperately searching the blankets. "I have to keep it safe, Gandalf entrusted me with it, Sauron might get it otherwise, and we're all doomed if he does!"

Dumbledore caught Frodo by the arm. "Mr. Baggins," he said, trying to calm the hobbit. "Calm down. What is this Ring of which you speak?"

"The One Ring," Frodo whispered, feeling as if there was a gaping hole in his chest where the Ring had once been. "It's the Dark Lord's, he made it and it'll make him invincible if he gets it. My uncle came across it, and he left it to me... Gandalf told me to keep it safe, keep it away from the Dark Lord. We were trying to take it to the Elves at Rivendell, but things went wrong. We took a shortcut, my idea, and ended up getting taken prisoner by barrow-wights... Oh Valar, if they've taken the Ring!" He stared at Dumbledore in panic, clutching his hand. "If they've got the Ring, Middle Earth is doomed!"

Dumbledore attempted to extricate himself from the hobbit's grasp. "Mr. Baggins, I am sure things will be all right, if you would just let go?"

Frodo did let go, but not because of Dumbledore's words. What caught his attention was the tall blond figure who had just slipped through the curtains. Frodo immediately fell quiet, staring in rapt amazement.

"Greetings, young Hobbit," Calenlass said gently, moving in gracefully to sit next to Frodo. The hobbit stared back. For the first time, he recognised the accent, although it wasn't his own. The words also lacked the shimmer that Dumbledore's words had had, and Frodo realised that the words were Sindarin.

"You're an Elf," he whispered, stunned. Never mind that the creature before him was dressed in wizard robes, and the ears were hidden under the hair. The slender fingers, delicate cheekbones, and the tell-tale inner light that seemed to illuminate the skin from within all gave it away.

Calenlass nodded, smiling at him. "Yes. Once I had another name, in another time and place. But since I returned to this Earth twenty years ago, I have been known as Calenlass."

Frodo, despite himself, smiled back, set at ease by the Elf's reassuring tones. "I'm Frodo Baggins," he whispered.

"_Mae govannen,_ Frodo," Calenlass replied, inclining his head. "Now, did I hear something about a ring?"

Frodo bit his lip. How could he admit to this Elf that he'd possibly doomed them all? And yet, those Elven eyes already seemed to know. Frodo gave in and confessed.

"The One Ring," he admitted. "It was entrusted to my care, and... and I lost it." He hung his head in shame. He didn't even dare look the Elf in the eye after this. However, to his surprise, an impossibly elegant finger touched his chin, and he found his face lifted up to meet dark grey eyes... which were smiling at him.

"Frodo," the Elf said gently. "You do not lose Rings of that nature, they leave you of their own accord. You and your friends were brought here by a spell. However, the Ring wished to remain in your own world. As the spell used was less powerful than the Ring, so the Ring remained. You are not to blame, Frodo." He took Frodo's hand in his. "The Ring has moved on, Frodo. The burden is no longer yours to bear. Where the future takes you, only the Valar can tell. But the Ring's destiny is in the hands of another now. Let it go, Frodo. Let go."

Frodo closed his eyes, feeling the ache in his heart caused by the Ring's absence, grief at knowing it was gone, gone forever. Felt it... and let it go, feeling relief at the weight of it gone, the responsibility slipping off his shoulder.

"It's gone," he whispered, unsure whether he should be laughing or crying. "It's gone." He lay back on the pillow, weary beyond all measure. "So what happens now?"

Calenlass turned inquiring eyes to the Headmaster.

"Well now, young hobbit," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Before we do anything else, I'd say it's time for a meal."

Frodo's eyes lit up at that. A Ring-bearer and Elf-friend he might be... but at heart he was still just a hobbit, and no hobbit could fail to be cheered by the prospect of food. As he took Calenlass's arm and followed Dumbledore out, Frodo decided that despite being far from home with the quest effectively derailed, things were looking up.

* * *

Some hurried Transfiguration and adaptation magic later, and the five children were looking less like Hogwarts students, and more like Middle Earth inhabitants, although it was clear to all that something was not quite right about them. Despite the plainness and simplicity of their clothing, it was just too clean and unworn to be peasant clothes, while the weapons they carried were clearly noble. Draco and Luna in particular looked more like young Elves then ordinary humans, and even the other three would have passed for aristocrat in any company. However, they at least looked less outlandish than before, which was something.

A quick 'Point Me' charm had indicated that they should head northwards, and sure enough, after a few hours, they had arrived at what appeared to be a fairly well-used highway. Well, by this world's standards, it was a highway. By their standards, it was little more than a dirt track. There was paving - of a sort. But it didn't look it had been maintained for some time, as the stones were cracked and broken, and there were weeds sprouting through in places.

"So," Draco mused. "It would appear the myths of a long-lost civilisation which had Muggle technology even before the Muggles did aren't true then."

"Either that, or we're in the Atlantis equivalent of Alabama," replied Hermione.

"Ala-where?" Draco asked, frowning.

"It's in America," Luna volunteered. "And it's very rural."

"And if anyone wants you to squeal like a pig, just say no," Ginny grinned. Draco looked askance at her, not at all sure he wanted to know.

"So where now?" Harry asked, still grinning at the idea of Draco meeting up with a gang of Atlantean rednecks. "Left or right?"

Hermione performed the charm again. "Right," she announced.

"Well then, let's go" Harry began, but Hermione stopped him.

"Wait," Hermione said. "We should at least try and think up a story about who we are and where we're going, in case anyone asks us. It's going to look suspicious otherwise."

"She's got a point," Ginny added. "I think we can safely assume there aren't many big cities around where we can blend in anonymously. We'll need a cover story."

Draco shrugged. "So we just say we're refugees fleeing a war, our families were killed and we're trying to find a new life... wherever we are." He smiled bitterly. "It's even true... in a way."

"Yes, but for all we know, this world's at peace," Hermione argued, but Luna interrupted.

"No, it's not. In the South, the kingdom of Gondor has been at war with the Black Land, Mordor, for years. Professor Calenlass told me about it. He even said that according to the spell, there's a glamour of some kind on us, so that everyone here will hear us speaking the language of this world instead of English. And given our backgrounds, it's likely everyone will hear a Gondor accent. It'll work the other way too - if we hear anyone speaking in the common tongue of this land, the Westron, we'll hear English."

"Well, that's useful to know at any rate," said Harry thoughtfully. "So we just say we're from Gondor, fleeing the war. Don't suppose we're the only ones either."

"No, just the only ones who _didn't have to be here in the first place,_" Draco muttered as he followed the others along the road. While Luna flinched at his words, the others ignored him. However, what no one noticed was a travel-worn stranger, who at first glance appeared little more than a tramp, getting up from behind the wall that ran alongside the other side of the road. Staring after them, the man pondered what he'd heard. Five children, apparently out of time and place, lying about their background... and in possession of hobbit-ponies from the Shire. Deciding that the ones he was waiting for were evidently not going to arrive, the vagabond-who-was-more-than-a-vagabond began to follow them.

* * *

It was fair to say that Professor Severus Snape was not having a good day. It was the morning after Calenlass's magic had taken the children back into the past, and all four hobbits were now awake, out of bed, and tucking in to breakfast in Dumbledore's office. Breakfast by hobbit standards anyway - to Snape's eyes it looked more like a feast. He began to idly ponder the physics of how exactly such small people could consume so much food. Indeed, it seemed the smaller the hobbit, the more they could eat. The shortest of them, young Took, appeared to have already eaten his own body weight three times.

Pippin Took, noticing Snape watching him, turned from his chicken drumstick and gave the Potions Professor a shy smile. However, a trademark glare soon had the hobbit returning hastily back to his food. Snape curled his lip in disgust. As if it wasn't enough having to deal with annoying children all day, Fate had seen fit to land him with yet more annoyances. He surveyed the hobbits once more. First, the apparent leader of the troupe, Baggins. Paler than the rest, with deep blue eyes that _almost_ made Snape feel for him, and dark curly hair, unlike the blond locks of the rest of the group, he reminded Snape of Potter. Same world-weary looks, same self-pitying air, although the presence of food seemed to have mitigated that somewhat. Then there was Gamgee. Surly, obstinate, constantly glaring suspiciously at them all and clinging to Baggins's side - clearly Ronald Weasley's hobbit incarnation if ever there was one. And then there were Brandybuck and Took, cousins or something, joined at the hip, under the impression that they were somehow amusing - yes, these two were the Weasley twins. Snape made a mental note to ensure that the two sets of terror never met. The consequences could mean doom for all of them.

The genuine Weasley, for his part, was watching them all very carefully, occasionally laughing despite himself. However, Snape could tell that the Gryffindor wasn't about to trust the newcomers just yet. Weasley was clearly brighter than he looked. Pansy meanwhile was watching them coldly, stubbornly resisting Brandybuck's ridiculous attempts to make her laugh. Snape repressed the feeling of pride - wouldn't do to look too smug, would it now?

Dumbledore of course appeared highly amused by everything, and was gamely joining in the hobbit fun and games, laughing, telling jokes and stories and generally making a fool of himself. Calenlass was also constantly smiling, although he at least had the sense to keep his dignity. He might be unbearably cheerful and forever grinning, but at least the Elf knew when to stop.

"So we're in the future, are we?" said Brandybuck, whose first name was Merry or Berry or something equally ridiculous that sounded more suited to a house-elf than anything else.

"What's it like?" Pippin asked, practically bouncing in his chair. "Do you still have Elves and Dragons and things like that?"

"Don't be silly, Pippin," said Frodo gently. "You know the Elves were leaving for Valinor even in our time. There's none left now - Calenlass only came back because Elbereth sent him."

"But we do have dragons," said Dumbledore, to Pippin's delight.

"Did you hear that, Merry?" he gasped. "They've got dragons!"

"Yes, Pip, I heard," said Merry, rolling his eyes.

"My brother works with them," said Ron before he could stop himself. Pippin looked even happier at this.

"The red-haired Big Person's brother works with them!" he cried, grabbing Merry's arm. "Can we see them?" he asked Ron eagerly. "Are we allowed to ride on them?"

Ron looked at the hobbits, seriously questioning their sanity. "Er... that's not usually recommended, they're a bit dangerous."

"I think you should try it," said Pansy brightly. "You might enjoy yourselves." _And we might not have to put up with your babbling any more,_ was the unspoken subtext.

Dumbledore coughed, calling everyone to attention.

"Diverting as this is, we have things to talk about other than dragon-riding. To answer your question, Mr. Took, all four of you are in the future, pulled out of time by a spell designed by Calenlass here."

Calenlass shook his head. "No. I did not design it. I merely carried it out. The Lady Elbereth, she created the magic. She told me that your world needed certain young wizards and witches from this world, and that the spell she gave me would achieve that. And in return, certain people from your world would be sent here to aid us."

All four hobbits looked up in shock as the truth dawned on them.

"What, us?" Pippin asked, wide-eyed. He nudged Merry. "I think he means us, Merry!"

"I don't see many others from Middle Earth around here, do you, Pip?" the other hobbit scowled.

"Us?" Frodo asked, not quite able to believe it. "But... why would you want us? We're just hobbits!"

"Exactly what I've been asking myself all night," Snape muttered to himself.

Dumbledore held out his hands in an expressive gesture. "My dear hobbits, I must confess I do not know. But nevertheless, the magic of the gods - Valar, do you call them? - has sent you to us. And so you must have a reason for being here. What that is, I dare say will become clear in due course. However, for now, I suggest the four of you simply remain here and enjoy Hogwarts hospitality."

Snape groaned inwardly. He'd been afraid of this.

"You shall stay in Hogwarts guest quarters," Dumbledore continued. "If anyone asks who or what you are, it's probably best if you claim to be visitors from overseas, staying as guests of Professor Calenlass in order to assist with his research. That should explain your unfamiliarity with our culture. It is even true, after a fashion."

"And in the mean time, we can try and find out what possible use they might be," Snape sniffed.

The hobbits laughed uncertainly. Frodo turned to Calenlass.

"Is he always like that?" Calenlass nodded.

"Oh yes. Always. But don't worry, he won't hurt you." Frodo did not look convinced, exchanging nervous glances with Sam.

Dumbledore turned his attention to the two children, who up until now had been watching from the sidelines.

"Now, can I entrust you two with the task of keeping our guests entertained while they're here?"

"What?" Pansy cried. "Haven't I been through enough as it is, without having to put up with... with _hobbits_ and... and... working with _him?_" She was backing as far away from Ron as she could manage. Ron didn't exactly look thrilled either.

"Sir, please," Ron begged Dumbledore. "Don't make me work with her. We hate each other. We'll probably end up trying to kill each other by the time we're done. Is that really the impression you want to give them?"

Dumbledore laughed, amused by the typical teenage histrionics. "Really, Mr. Weasley. I am quite sure that you and Miss Parkinson will cope just fine."

Ron and Pansy stared at each other, both feeling as if their worlds had just caved in. Things just couldn't get any worse.

* * *

Someone experiencing a not entirely dissimilar feeling was one Draco Malfoy. Now, it had to be said in his favour that he was not some townie who'd never even seen a tree before Hogwarts. Throughout the trek over the hills, and even along the road, Draco, uncharacteristically, hadn't uttered a word of complaint. He was a country boy himself, having grown up miles from anywhere in Wiltshire, and had spent many a fine day as a boy going for long walks. Sometimes he had gone with his father, sometimes alone. But on every occasion, it had been one of the few times when he could forget who he was, what he was and just be an ordinary boy out for a walk, without having to always remember his manners and how he behaved. Times when he could forget he was a Malfoy. Times when Lucius dropped his usual façade and actually laughed and smiled. Times when they were like a normal father and son for once. (But thinking of Lucius reminded Draco that his father had been killed by Aurors over the summer while attempting to escape from Azkaban, so he didn't do it often.)

The weather had been fine, the sun had been out, and even the presence of Granger, Potter and She-Weasley hadn't been enough to dampen his spirits. He'd allowed them to go on ahead, dropping back so he could enjoy the day without their chatter bothering him. Luna, of course, had remained steadfastly by his side, but as she seemed content to simply ride by him and say nothing, Draco tolerated her presence. Indeed, for a time he'd been able to relax and simply to pretend to himself that he was out for a ride near home, and that nightfall would bring him back to Malfoy Manor, where a warm bath, a hug from his mother (who was actually quite affectionate in private), a comfy bed and a cup of something hot to drink awaited him.

However, nightfall had now come, bringing with it a grim reminder that he might never see Malfoy Manor or his mother again. True, they'd found a town... but a stay here was going to be very far from a night at Malfoy Manor. That, and it was starting to rain. Pulling his cloak around him, Draco waited as the three Gryffindors pleaded with the gatekeeper.

"God, what is taking so long?" he muttered to himself. "I am freezing to death out here!"

"They're having problems," Luna whispered. "The gatekeeper won't let us in. Keeps wanting to know who we are." She indicated to where Harry was arguing unsuccessfully with the gatekeeper.

"Please let us in," Harry begged. "We've been travelling for miles."

"That's as may be," said the gatekeeper obstinately, "but there's fell things in the wild in these days, an' I wouldn' be doin' my job if I didn't ask who you are and where yer from, would I now? 'Sides, when you do get to the inn, you'll find there's more than ol' Harry at the gate asking questions. You mark my words."

"We don't mean anyone any harm, we promise," Hermione called. "We just need somewhere to stay the night and a bit of advice, that's all!"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say, darlin'," the gatekeeper sneered. "You lot clearly ain't Bree-folk; in fact, from the sound of yer, you're posh folk from way down south. So unless you tell me who you are and what yer doin' up here, you're sleepin' in the ditch tonight!" He turned away, slamming the wooden door-portal behind him.

Harry sighed and turned away, crestfallen. "Well, that's it," he said sadly. "Looks like we're roughing it tonight. Not unless we can sneak in somehow."

Draco froze as he heard this. That did it. No way. Not in a ditch, not when it was raining and cold, not a Malfoy. Not Draco son of Lucius.

"Like hell we are!" Draco snarled, nudging his pony into action. Leaving the others behind, he rode up to the door and hammered on it hard enough to almost break it down.

"Alright, alright," he heard the gatekeeper muttering. The wooden panel slid back again. "Who's there?" the man snapped.

Draco leaned down so he could get a good look at the man. He was reminded forcibly at the pictures he'd seen of Muggle peasants in books as a child. Teeth missing, warts, piggy eyes, round and misshapen nose, probably plague-ridden, definitely in need of a good wash. Typical Muggle, he thought in disgust.

"Am I to understand that you are refusing entry to my companions?" he said softly.

"Yeah, that's right," the gatekeeper sneered. "Got a problem?"

Draco had expected a response like that. Smirking, he sat up straight, shook his hair back, and put on his best imperious glare. Oh, how he lived for moments like these.

"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM??" he roared.

The gatekeeper shrugged. "Nope."

"I am Draco, son of Lucius, of the House of Malfoy," Draco hissed. "And unless you let us in to this pathetic little town _right now_, I will take great pleasure in burning it down around your ears. Do I make myself clear?"

The gatekeeper glanced out, seeing only four other youths out there, none of whom looked exactly intimidating. And they'd have a task on their hands starting a fire in this weather in any case. The gatekeeper leered back at them.

"Never 'eard of ya," he sneered. Draco glared, fingering his wand and preparing to blast the door down... until Luna rode up and stopped him with a touch to the arm.

"No," she said softly. "It's his home. You can't force your way in."

Draco muttered under his breath, noticing the others watching him curiously. He couldn't really expect any support from them, and he was in no mood to harass a town full of Muggles all on his own. Sighing, he reached into his pocket, and produced a Galleon, a solid gold coin that was probably worth more than the entire town. Silently, he held it up in front of the gatekeeper. The man's eyes brightened appreciably at this.

"Wait a moment, it's coming back to me now. I have heard of yer, after all! Dear oh dear, my memory. Forget me own 'ead if it weren't screwed on, I would." Bolts were drawn back and the gate swung open. "Come in, good sir, and your companions too. Welcome to Bree!"

Grinning smugly, Draco flipped the coin at the man, bowed his thanks and rode in, Luna behind him.

"Come on then," he called to the three Gryffindors. "Or maybe you wanted to sleep in the ditch after all?"

Glowering, Harry remounted his own pony, Hermione following suit, and Ginny bringing up the rear.

"Hope you're pleased with yourself, Malfoy," Harry muttered as he rode level with Draco. "Suppose it's all in a day's work for you, shouting abuse at Muggles and bribing your way in to things?"

"Shut up, Potter," Draco replied, feeling too smugly righteous to be annoyed. Riding ahead, he made for the one building in town with light spilling out of the window, and a few drunken townsfolk spilling out of the door.

"Who the hell made him the leader?" Harry snapped as he urged their pony after him.

"Don't let it get to you," Hermione soothed him. "He did get us in after all."

"Yeah," Harry growled, fingering the ring under his shirt. "But in to what?" Spurring the pony on, he rode after the others, Ginny and Luna having overtaken them both. Desperate to get out of the cold as they were, no one thought to look behind them, to where, taking advantage of old Harry the gatekeeper's preoccupation with his new gold piece, a shadowy figure had vaulted the gate, and slid away into the darkness.

* * *

The inn proved as expected; smoky and packed full of people, but at least warm and dry. Judging from the clientèle, travellers weren't as unexpected as the gatekeeper had led them to believe - for no one really looked twice at the five strangers, not after a glare from Draco anyway. Indeed, more than a few of the patrons appeared to be travellers themselves from the look of their clothes, and the way most of the others appeared to be keeping something of a distance.

Draco, however, took none of this in as he sauntered up to the bar and caught the landlord's eye.

"A suite of rooms please, the best available," he drawled. "Oh, and stabling for five ponies. We've come a long way, and we're tired and hungry."

The landlord looked the five of them over, stroking his chin with a frown.

"I'd like to help, young masters and misses, but the inn's full as it is, what with this party from the South that came in tonight. Are you with them, by any chance? Because if so, we could board you in with some of them..."

"No!" said Draco. "Er..." he coughed, remembering that they too were meant to be refugees from the South., "we don't really know them, no, although we heard they were a day or so ahead of us. Guess we caught them up at last, eh?"

"Yes sir," said the landlord suspiciously. "Well, if you won't share with them, I'm not sure we can fit you in. All our big rooms are taken, see."

"Please," said Hermione desperately. "We're really tired. We've been travelling all day, and it's been hours since we last ate."

This was true enough - it had been nearly midnight when they'd left Hogwarts, and that had been some hours ago. It was the early hours of the morning according to their body clocks, and they were all desperate for sleep.

"You said all the big rooms were gone," said Harry, picking up on something the landlord had mentioned. "What about little rooms? Because we don't mind small rooms, we really don't."

The landlord shook his head. "Er... sir, I'm not sure you understand me. These rooms aren't for the likes of you and me. They're for hobbits. You know," he said, noting the blank stares from all five of them, even Luna, "Little People." He indicated smaller people seated at some of the tables, loudly talking and drinking.

"What are they?" Hermione whispered, fascinated.

"And I just thought they had really lax licensing laws here," Ginny admitted.

"Periannath!" Luna gasped, finally recognising them. "Halflings," she translated for everyone else. "Like humans but smaller. So that's what they look like," she said happily.

Harry scrutinised the hobbits carefully. Apart from being short and somewhat oddly proportioned, they seemed human enough, and he couldn't think what special arrangements they'd need, aside from small rooms. He glanced at the rest of the company, thankful they were all still growing. Not one of them was over five foot seven.

"We'd fit in them though, wouldn't we?" he said. "I mean, we're only kids, after all."

The landlord looked them over, frowning. Behind Harry, Hermione and Ginny turned on their most charming smiles. Even Draco looked hopeful.

"Well," he said slowly. "I suppose I could get you in there. It's not like we're going to get many other guests tonight, after all, not now the gates are locked..."

Seeing him wavering, Draco slowly reached into his pocket for his purse. Before the landlord could say another word, a gold coin had materialised before his eyes. That clinched it.

"I think we can accommodate you, young sirs and madams," he said with a smile as he pocketed the coin. "Welcome to the famous _Prancing Pony_ of Bree! Barliman Butterbur at your service!" He gave them a bow.

"Harry Potter," said Harry, relieved at finally being made welcome in this strange world. "These are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley, that's Luna Lovegood, and this is..."

"Draco son of Lucius," Draco announced proudly. "Of the Most Honourable House of Malfoy."

"Honourable, my arse," Ginny was heard to mutter. Draco glared at her briefly, but said nothing. Barliman smiled at them all and called to one of his staff.

"Oi! Nob!" Nob proved to be one of the aforementioned hobbits. "Where's Bob? You don't know? Well find him then! Tell him we've got five ponies outside need stabling. Then show these fine ladies and gentlemen to the rooms in the north wing, if you please. I dare say they'll be wanting supper too, if that's alright with you?"

"We'd love supper," said Harry, practically salivating at the thought of food. "Thank you."

"But Barliman," said Nob in confusion. "The north wing, that's all hobbit rooms, and well, these young folk ain't exactly hobbits, are they?"

"Nob," said Barliman irritably. "These ladies and gents have come a long way and they're tired. Hobbit rooms is all we've got, and that's fine with them. So stop chattin', find Bob, and escort these fine young people to their rooms. Is this clear enough for you?"

"Yes sir," said Nob, sighing. He disappeared into the back briefly, shouted at someone who they presumed was Bob the pony stabler, before re-appearing. Indicating for them to follow him, he led them off to their rooms.

* * *

The rooms, while small and low of ceiling, proved comfortable enough, consisting of a small yet cosy parlour, and two twin rooms, one of which had been hastily supplied with an extra bed. Running water and an en suite bathroom seemed to be optional however.

"But the privies are only out the back, there's chamber pots under your beds, and if you need a basin or a bath, you've only got to call and we'll bring you one," said Nob cheerily. "Now, you ladies and gents make yourselves at home, and I'll see about supper. How's that?"

"Fine," said Harry wearily. He tipped the amazed hobbit some Sickles for his trouble before collapsing in a chair.

"Chamber pots?" Draco moaned. "_Privies??_ God, but this place is so... so _Muggle!_"

"Watch your mouth, Malfoy," Hermione snapped. "Every Muggle house I've been in has had perfectly adequate toilet and bathroom facilities, thank you very much!"

"Come on, we all suspected it would be like this when we saw the road," Ginny sighed. "At least we still have our magic. We can always Scourgify the privies if they're really that bad. And go before we go to bed. Could be worse; we really could be Muggles."

Not even Hermione disagreed with that. And so they settled down, waiting for supper to arrive, which it did a few minutes later.

"Here you go, good sirs and madams," Barliman announced, producing a tray of soup, cold meat, bread, butter and cheese, along with five tankards of beer. "Dinner is served."

The five of them, all misgivings dispelled by the prospect of food, immediately began to tuck in. Barliman lingered a little as they ate.

"Er, begging your pardon, but once you've supped, if you've a mind for conversation, you'd be most welcome to join the company if you please. We don't get much news, see, and we're always willing to hear songs or stories from foreign parts. That's if you're willing, that is. You've had a hard day, I know, and if you'd prefer to go straight to bed, that's not a problem, but if you did have a mind, the company'd be more'n pleased to welcome you."

"Thank you," said Harry with a smile. "We'll keep it in mind."

Nodding, Barliman left them to their food. Harry turned to the others.

"Well? What do you think? Reckon we should join them?" Harry asked.

Hermione seemed reluctant. "I don't know, Harry," she said dubiously. "Suppose they press us for news? We don't have any, and our cover story won't hold up for long, especially not with Southerners in the place."

"So?" Ginny shrugged. "Isn't that a good thing? If there's other Gondorians in the place, they can do the talking, and we just agree with them. Look, you said yourself we need information, and we're not going to get it hanging around in here all night, are we?"

The others had to agree with that, and it was decided that Harry, Hermione and Ginny would join the company and see what they could find out. It was also decided for Luna to accompany them, as she was the only one with any knowledge of this world at all. Draco, however, adamantly refused to go.

"You must be joking," he scoffed. "Socialise with that rabble? I'd rather have my teeth pulled. No thank you. I shall stay here, put my feet up, maybe go for a quiet walk outside..."

"What, in the dark?" laughed Hermione. "No street lights here, you know. Sure you won't get lost?" However, the last laugh was on her, as Draco produced his wand.

"Ah yes, electric lighting," Draco drawled. "How the hell have I managed without it _all my life?_ Oh wait, I remember. _Lumos._" He watched with a smirk as his wand lit up. "I'm a wizard, you ignorant Muggle."

Hermione glared at him, but said nothing. The food having been pretty much eaten, she got up, with the others joining her.

"Fine, Malfoy, have it your way. I'd rather not spend any time in your company than I have to. Come on, Harry." She swept out, the others following her, leaving Draco to his own thoughts. But not for long. Lacking conversation, refreshment, reading material, or indeed anything else to do, Draco decided to go out for a walk, and maybe locate the privies while he was at it.

It was on his return to the inn when it happened. He was standing outside the inn, lounging across the street and listening to the Gryffindor three serenade the natives with some song which appeared to be called 'Let It Be' or something like that, when he heard it - the unmistakable sound of horses' hooves. Stepping out in to the street, he held up his wand, looking to see who the rider was. He'd later wish he hadn't.

Approaching him was a black-clad figure, mounted on a horse that nearly blended in with the night. Draco had no idea who they were, but he could sense power rolling off the figure in waves of almost palpable darkness. He shivered, despite trying his hardest not to. It reminded him of the time they'd sent Dementors to Hogwarts, hunting for his blood-traitor cousin. Except of course, Dementors didn't ride horses. And their robes weren't nearly as expensive looking as the ones this... person?... was wearing.

Draco lifted his wand, shifting the light so he could get a better view.

"Hello?" he called out. "Who's there?" The figure lifted its head, turning to look at him. Draco directed his wandlight underneath the cowl... and staggered back, reeling at what he saw... or rather, didn't see. Where the thing's face should be was only darkness.

Draco screamed, and ran, staggering across the street, clutching his ears as the thing emitted a high-pitched wail that echoed around the street. Another wail rolled out from not far away in response to the first, and Draco realised in dismay that there was more than one of them out there. Reaching the door of the inn, he wrenched it open and fell inside, slamming it shut just as the creature reigned in its horse outside. Draco held his breath, hoping, praying to gods he didn't even believe in, that it wouldn't come in. He waited, watching through the door's single pane of glass, barely able to breathe as the rider pulled up, its horse fidgeting nervously. For a few leaden seconds, it stayed put, clearly considering its next course of action, until more hoof treads sounded out, and a second rider joined it. Draco wanted to run, everything about them screaming evil... yet somehow he couldn't tear his eyes away. For a few brief minutes, the two riders exchanged words, and the first, to Draco's horror, indicated the door he was hiding behind. Both riders stared intently in his direction, and Draco fell back whimpering, unable to stand that gaze for long. Trembling, he closed his eyes, bravado utterly gone, forgetting that he was Draco son of Lucius of the Most Honourable House of Malfoy. And then, he was finally able to relax, as the sound of hooves became audible, and the two riders rode off. Draco let out a sigh of relief. Safe, thank the gods. Safe... until someone grabbed him from behind, placing a hand over his mouth before he could even cry out.

"Be quiet, Draco son of Lucius, and do not struggle," a man's voice murmured in his ear. "One word out of you and it could be your last." Hauling Draco roughly to his feet, his unknown assailant spun him round and thrust him against the wall, pinning his arms across his chest. Draco stared in panic into blue eyes that matched his own exactly, eyes staring out of a weatherworn bearded face, with straggly dark hair hanging down either side. And although his assailant seemed to be fully human, Draco was still stunned into silence. In just a few minutes, he'd gone from confronting Dementor-lookalikes to facing the image of his disgraced and now dead cousin, Sirius Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but Viggo Mortensen's a lot more like my vision of Sirius than Gary Oldman. (Oh come on, you guessed it's Aragorn that's manhandling our Malfoy, surely?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious stranger with Sirius Black's face finally tells the Hogwarts students why they're in Middle Earth, but the news is not to everyone's liking. Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, the hobbits are coming to terms with their new home's amenities, but will it be enough to assuage their doubts? And they're not the only ones having doubts - in another part of Britain entirely, Bellatrix Lestrange is being plagued by enigmatic dream-visions, but can even a goddess sway the right-hand woman of the Dark Lord?

"Who are you?" Draco whispered, too stunned to remain frightened. The stranger with Sirius's face just smiled grimly.

"I am called Strider," he replied. "And I would ask your name, stranger, but fortunately you have already informed the entire tavern of your identity, son of Lucius." He sneered the last phrase. Draco glared back at him, seething at this filthy Muggle daring to impugn his background. And yet, there was something about this man that was subtly different to the Bree-folk. Travel-worn he might well be, but he had an aura of power that Draco couldn't deny. However, that didn't mean he was about to acknowledge it publicly.

"So?" Draco snapped. "What business is it of yours who I am? I do hope you're not planning to rob me. It would be most unwise."

Strider laughed at that. "Your gold means nothing to me, son of Lucius, although if you would not be robbed, you would do better not to brandish it so freely. Nay, I am more interested in what business a lordling of your standing has in a town like Bree." Strider gazed at him curiously, his voice softening and the Bree accent fading into one not dissimilar to Draco's own. "I would know why you dress, walk and speak like a lord of Men from the land of Gondor, yet your family name is not one known there. I would know why you are travelling in the wilds so far from home with no escort of retainers. I would know why the companions you do have appear of less lordly birth than you, yet treat you as the base-born one. And I would particularly like to know why five children of Men are riding hobbit-ponies." He tightened his grip on Draco's clothes. "I would know who you really are, Draco son of Lucius."

"That is who I really am, _Strider_," Draco spat back at him. "You're the only one with a false name here. Now let me go, you wretched Muggle, before I do something you'll regret."

Strider scowled at the boy, but before he could do anything else, he felt something sharp and wooden digging into his neck.

"Put him down," said Luna, and to Draco's surprise, her normally spaced-out demeanour was gone, replaced by a clear-headed expression of cold anger that he'd never expected to see on Luna's face. "Or I'm afraid I'll have to hex you."

Draco turned back to Strider, the infamous Malfoy smirk in place.

"You'd better do as she says, you know," he drawled. "She might not look much, but she's dangerous when crossed."

Strider's eyes slid sideways, silently weighing up this unexpected interruption. Slowly, he let Draco go, stepping backwards with his hands raised. Smiling, Luna lowered her wand.

"That's better," she smiled. "I don't like using magic on Muggles, you know, Dad always told me it was wrong to use it on people who couldn't fight back, but I can't let you hurt Draco. He's my friend."

Strider raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth quirking in a smile. "He is fortunate in his choice of friends then, my lady. You have saved him from harm this time, at least." He glanced at her wand, frowning. "'Tis most strange, but although it appears naught but a child's toy, the weapon you wield contains great power. Indeed, I am minded of an Istar's staff, but surely not in the hands of one so young..." He shook his head. "Forgive me, lady, I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"Luna Lovegood," Luna replied. "I'm a witch." She noticed the surprise on Strider's face at this. "But don't worry," she added hastily. "I don't normally hurt people."

"Well, that is good to hear," said Strider, but there was an edge of tension in his voice. "I also do not delight in causing harm to wholesome creatures. My lady, if it be not too much to ask, I would seek the acquaintance of you and your companions. For you are strange to my eyes, and there is much I would ask of you."

Draco noticed Luna's gaze softening. "Luna. _No_," he said firmly. Luna took no notice.

"All right," she said cheerfully. "Come back to the parlour with us, and we'll talk."

"_Luna_," Draco groaned. "He could be anyone! You can't just invite him back to the rooms! He might cut our throats in our sleep! He already tried to threaten me!"

Luna tilted her head, watching Strider carefully. "No, we're quite safe. He won't hurt us." Behind Strider, Draco could only groan in exasperation. Strider, amused by Draco's reaction, smiled sardonically at them both.

"Peace, son of Lucius. The lady speaks the truth; I will not harm you." He cast a dark look out into the street. "Besides, there is far worse than old Strider abroad in Bree this night." He turned away, frowning. "Come, show me your quarters. I would speak with you all."

Luna turned with a smile, and it was then that Draco noticed the way her modified clothes swished around her ankles. They weren't moving in the same way as they were... and they were turning black.

Wide-eyed, Draco stared down at his own clothes. To his horror, black streaks were appearing on his own clothes, and the trousers that had been Transfigured for him were even now joining in some areas, splitting apart in others. Worst of all was the green and silver beginning to reappear. _That damn Mudblood!_ Draco cursed. The magic that had changed their clothes was starting to wear off already, and in another minute or two, all five of them would be back in their uniforms.

"Luna!" Draco hissed. "Your robes!" Luna glanced down, and gasped. The unravelling had gathered pace, and the bronze and blue of Ravenclaw was now clearly visible. Luna stared at Draco in horror. By this time, Strider too had noticed what was happening and was staring at them both, one hand going instinctively for his sword.

"The rooms. Now," Draco barely managed to choke out. Luna nodded at once, and in a second, the two of them were racing for their parlour, diving in and out of the crowd. And following in their wake was a rather shaken Ranger.

* * *

Fortunately, the two of them made it back to the parlour without anyone paying them much attention. Safe once more in the privacy of their own chambers, both Draco and Luna sank into chairs by the fire, watching their clothes change back into school robes in silence.

Finally, Draco spoke up. "That was a close one," he whispered. Luna nodded breathlessly. Reaching for her wand, she gasped a charm and caused the fire to spring back to life, illuminating the room - and the Ranger watching them from the far corner.

"Indeed," said Strider dryly. "It is not a common sight for a person's garments to change into other garments as you are speaking with them." He raised an eyebrow. "Truly, you have many secrets, Lady Luna and Draco son of Lucius."

Draco and Luna stared at each other, before Draco spun round to face Strider again. "How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded.

"I followed you," Strider replied, unperturbed. "You closed the door, but neglected to lock it, and paid me no mind when I entered behind you." He folded his arms sternly. "You would both do better to be a little more wary in future. You are fortunate indeed that it was only I who followed you. Had a more malign presence entered, it is likely you would both be dead by now."

Luna had the grace to look away, embarrassed. Draco, face flushed, glared at the Ranger, and was about to challenge him when the door flew open and the three Gryffindors raced in. As with Draco and Luna, the Transfiguration had worn off, and all three were now back in their Hogwarts uniforms.

"So your clothes changed back too, did they?" Draco asked with a grin. "So glad to see it's not just my clothes you did a botch job on, Granger."

"Shut up," Hermione snapped, sitting down with a scowl on her face. "It's very difficult and technical magic to get the cloth to hold its form, especially when it was woven by magic like our school robes are. Besides, I didn't see _you_ volunteering to do it."

Draco did not answer, content to smirk at the great Hermione Granger slipping up for once. It was Ginny who spoke up next.

"Do you think we got away with it?" she asked hopefully.

"I think so," Harry sighed. "The light in that tavern's not good enough to get a good look at our clothes anyway. It's just a good thing we were sitting down at the time and not singing for them. Otherwise it could have been embarrassing."

"Embarrassing... and potentially fatal," Strider said calmly from the corner. The three Gryffindors, who up until now had been too preoccupied to notice the Ranger, spun round to face him, wands drawn.

"Who are you?" Ginny demanded.

"Oh, he's a friend of ours," Luna piped up. "He's called Strider."

All three of them turned to stare at her, not quite able to believe that even Luna would go so far as to pick up random strangers in pubs and invite them back to their rooms. Harry turned to Draco, hoping to get more sense out of him.

"He's some Muggle who dresses like a tramp, goes under a false name and a false accent, tried to threaten me and is showing an undue amount of interest in who we are and where we come from," Draco announced, flicking his hair back. "And for reasons best known to herself, Luna has decided to befriend him."

"He tried to threaten you?" Hermione asked with interest. "He can't be all bad then. And if Luna thinks he's safe..."

"Yes, but Luna also thinks Malfoy's trustworthy," Harry replied, frowning. He turned back to Strider.

"So you're Strider, then."

"It's what they call me here," came the nonchalant reply.

"Not your real name then," said Ginny sharply. Strider shook his head.

"They don't need to know my real name. Besides, these are dangerous times. It is safe no longer for my kin to bear our right names in public."

Ginny snorted. "Wonderful, so he even admits he's a wanted man. I say we Obliviate him now and send him on his way. Who's with me?"

Harry hesitated. While his rational self was telling him that Ginny had a very good point, he couldn't help but remember another wanted man, who had turned out not to be dangerous at all. He looked Strider up and down. Although the man's hood hid his face and the dim lighting shrouded him in shadows, something in his bearing reminded him of the godfather he'd lost. While Strider wasn't exactly coming across as friendly, he didn't seem evil either. Harry had a feeling that if Strider meant them harm, he would either have done it by now, or gone out of his way to charm them, luring them into a false sense of security. He'd done neither.

"Who are you, Strider?" said Harry softly. "And what do you want with us? We're just lost travellers trying to find a way home. We're no threat to you, I promise."

Amused, Strider chuckled. "Who am I? Well now, young Istar, that's a question with many answers, and if I were to tell you all, we would not be abed ere the break of day. But for now, all you need to know is that I am a Ranger of the North, one of the Dunedain, a dwindling group of Men dedicated to protecting the people of these lands and keeping them safe from evil things."

"Dunedain..." Luna whispered, sitting bolt upright. Strider nodded at the stunned Ravenclaw with a smile.

"You've heard of us, I see."

Luna nodded slowly. "The Men of the West," she breathed. "Last of a dying line, the last of the Numenoreans." Her eyes widened yet further as she processed the man's name... and what it translated to in the tongue of the Elves. "_Telcontar_," she whispered, all the tales her mother had taught her coming back to her; tales of the royal House of Telcontar that had once ruled in peace and prosperity, up until the ice had come from the north and carved modern Europe from the old Middle Earth kingdoms, doing to Gondor and Arnor what all the orcs of Mordor could not. But the Telcontar rulers had never been Rangers, never travelled the wilds alone. None, that is, apart from one.

"It's him," said Luna fervently. "He's the one we need, the one who'll show us what to do. He'll show us why we're here."

All eyes turned to Luna. Even Strider seemed a little nonplussed by this.

"Crazy," Draco sniffed. "Absolutely bloody mental."

Hermione and Ginny both appeared to share his opinion.

"How can you know that, Luna?" Hermione snapped. "We don't even know him."

"Yeah, he could be anyone," Ginny agreed. "How do we know we can trust him?"

"Lady Luna," Strider's voice cut through the dissent and silenced them all. "I think the pertinent question would be: how do I know I can trust _you_?"

Silence fell, as they exchanged glances. They hadn't thought how they were going to justify their own trustworthiness; naively, they hadn't realised they'd need to. Noting their looks of quiet panic, Strider folded his arms grimly.

"You choose not to answer? Or maybe you know not how. Very well, maybe you will be better able to answer other questions. Such as where you are really from. What your true purpose here is. What manner of sorcery is contained in those wands. And most of all, how you came by hobbit-ponies." He strode forward, becoming ever more menacing as he did so. "I was expecting to meet four hobbits here, bringing something most valuable with them. Instead, I find five children, seemingly arrived from out of nowhere, who have the look of the Eldar and the power of the Istari, and who are riding ponies that assuredly aren't theirs." He loomed over Harry, radiating menace. Harry stared into the stranger's shadowed face, just able to make out longish dark hair and a beard, and the hint of oddly familiar blue eyes, but little more.

"I think, young Istar," Strider said softly, "that you have a great deal of explaining to do."

Harry stared up into Strider's eyes, his instincts at war. On the one hand, he could hex Strider in a flash if he needed to, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione and Ginny slowly reaching for their wands. However, something else told him no. They had taken the ponies after all, and if Strider truly was appointed to protect this land and its people, he had every right to demand an explanation.

"Wait," he said, motioning to Ginny. "He's right. We do owe him an explanation."

Ginny and Hermione lowered their wands, but neither looked convinced.

"Harry, are you sure?" Hermione asked, worried. "We don't know much about him."

"I still vote for the Obliviate option," said Ginny, not letting her wand go for a second. However, she seemed prepared to wait for Harry's agreement before doing anything.

Harry, hoping that this didn't prove to be one of his unluckier decisions, motioned to Strider.

"You'd better sit down, Strider. This could take some time."

Harry wasn't wrong. It took nearly two hours for them to fully acquaint Strider with who they were, what they were and where they came from. That was even before they got on to the topic of how they'd come to be there in the first place. Finally, they'd told the Ranger everything they knew.

"So," said Strider slowly, trying to digest all he'd heard. "You are young witches and wizards, sent from the far distant future by magic gone awry. This same magic took four hobbits from here back to your school. In your time, there is also a war in progress. And you are trying to find your way back home so you can fight this Dark Lord Voldemort." He cast his eyes around the five of them, seemingly weighing them all up. "I see that the three of you, Hermione, Ginny and you, Harry, are boon companions. I see also that Luna is regarded by you with fondness, despite her... eccentricities." He nodded good-humouredly at the Ravenclaw with a smile. "And that despite her apparent strangeness, she knows of this world and its ways, and that there is a method yet in her actions. Why, she is even friendly towards the son of Lucius, who the rest of you treat with deep suspicion."

"Yes," said Ginny brightly. "Because he hates us all."

"I love you too, Weasley," Draco purred sardonically.

"And yet the five of you can apparently work together quite well when you have to," Strider murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "By the Valar, I do not know what fate has brought you here, but I do know that it has done so for a reason as yet unclear to me. And yet I fear for your world, if those poor hobbits and what they bear truly are there. Should your Dark Lord lay his hands on the Ring..." He did not finish the sentence.

"The Ring?" Hermione asked, exchanging glances with Harry. "What ring?"

"The creation of our Dark Lord," Strider sighed. "It is a thing of purest evil. It gives the bearer great power, but if worn by anyone but its maker, it will utterly corrupt even the purest heart and ultimately enslave them." Harry tried not to react as he heard this, his thoughts immediately turning to the innocuous looking ring around his neck.

Strider appeared not to notice as he continued. "Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor, invested much of his power in it, and if he were to get it back, he would be invincible. Fortunately, he does not have it - it had fallen by chance into the hands of one of the hobbits. If it is now truly gone from this world, then it would surely thwart Sauron's ambitions. But if it should fall into the hands of this Voldemort, or indeed anyone else foolish enough to use it, then your people are surely doomed."

"What if they didn't use it?" Harry asked nervously. "What if they just, you know, carried it in a pocket or on a chain around their neck?"

"Then they are strong-willed indeed," Strider replied sadly. "For the Ring is tricky, and will eventually bend even the mightiest to its will. To hold it and not use it... that would require virtue indeed."

"But if they managed it?" Hermione pressed him.

Strider shook his head. "Few are able to resist the Ring's lure for long. If it is not worn, its power not used, then that will serve to slow its hold. But none can resist it forever." He noticed the sickly pallor that had stolen over Harry's face, and the horrified looks Hermione and Ginny were giving him. Luna for her part was looking away sadly, while Draco was leaning back in his chair looking unbearably smug. "What is it?" he asked, foreboding in his heart. "What is wrong?"

Harry finally spoke up. "This Ring. What does it look like, exactly?"

"I have not seen it myself," said Strider. "But I have been informed that it resembles a simple golden band."

Harry closed his eyes, reaching into his shirt. He could of course be wrong... but somehow he doubted it. It seemed that no matter what time he ended up in, the fates always seemed to pick him to deal with power-hungry dark lords. He pulled the ring from its hiding place and held it out for Strider to see.

"Does it look anything like this?"

Strider leaned over and looked at it. Harry heard him inhale sharply, before backing away as fast as he could.

"That is it," Strider whispered. "Put it away, Harry. I've seen all I need to."

Harry put the Ring away, trying to ignore the part of him that welcomed it back and that had been screaming in panic as he'd held it out. Strider meanwhile had got to his feet and was pacing up and down.

"This changes everything," they heard him say. "What Gandalf and Elrond will say when they hear of this, I know not, but there is no help for it. These children are the Ringbearers now, and the hobbits are beyond my assistance, it would appear." He turned to Harry again. "Apart from the five of you, and I, does anyone else know that you possess the Ring? Or indeed that you are anything other than ordinary children of Men from this world?"

Harry shook his head. "Not that I know of."

Strider nodded. "Good. Let it remain so. Because Sauron and his agents are ever searching for that Ring, and they know it is here. For as long as you carry that Ring, you are all in grave peril."

Anxious looks passed between the children. Harry however simply looked resigned.

"I've spent most of my life in grave peril," he sighed. "I'm used to it now."

Strider couldn't help but smile at that. "I know well how that feels," he replied gently, feeling strangely drawn to the young boy. "I too have been hunted by Sauron's foul minions from a young age. But he has not caught me yet. And he will not catch you either, not if I can prevent it." Gazing at Harry, he finally lowered his hood, allowing them to see his face properly for the first time. "My name is Aragorn son of Arathorn, and if by life or death I can save you, I will."

Harry looked up, smiling faintly... and promptly shot to his feet, pushing his chair over backwards in his haste. Fighting back tears, he couldn't help but stare at a face he thought he'd never see again.

"Sirius..." Harry whispered, a lump in his throat. Aragorn had no idea what the word meant, or who Sirius might have been, but it was obvious the boy was deeply affected.

"Harry?" Aragorn asked, concerned. "Are you well?"

"Yeah," said Harry, although he sounded in pain. "Yeah, it's nothing, I'm just being stupid." He looked away, the very image of misery. "You just look like someone I know, that's all."

"Someone you cared about?" Aragorn asked. Harry nodded, but would say no more.

"You look like his godfather," said Hermione softly, reaching out to give Harry a hug. "After Harry's parents died, Sirius was the only family Harry had left. A few months ago, he died."

"And I have reminded him," said Aragorn, inwardly cursing at his ill fortune. He walked over to where Harry was being comforted by Hermione. "Harry, I am deeply sorry for causing you hurt, however inadvertently it was done."

Harry looked up, managing a smile. "Not your fault. And I'm fine, really. I was just... shocked, that's all."

"I can imagine you would be," Aragorn replied. "Alas, Harry, I am not, and cannot be, this Sirius. But I do promise to do all in my power to protect you while you bear the Ring." He squeezed Harry's shoulder. Harry patted Aragorn's hand gratefully, before sitting down again, seemingly recovered, at least for now.

"So what do we do now?" asked Ginny briskly. "We can't stay here, that much is obvious. Where do you plan to take us?"

"And does it have indoor toilets and running water?" asked Draco hopefully. He wasn't too sure about Aragorn, but on the other hand, anyone who might know how to get home was all right in Draco's book. It was worth keeping his head down and tagging along... for now at any rate.

Aragorn shot Draco a smirk worthy of a Malfoy. "As to that, Master Draco, our eventual destination will have all the luxuries your heart could ever desire." He smiled at the pathetically grateful look on Draco's face even as he dealt out the bad news. "Alas, if only we did not face three weeks hard journey in the wild before arriving." Aragorn could not resist feeling just a little gratified at the despair on the wizard aristocrat's face as he revealed this. However, the feeling was short lived, as the others appeared no less desolate at this news.

"Three weeks?" Hermione whispered bleakly.

"In the wilderness?" Ginny moaned.

"On foot?" asked Harry in stunned disbelief.

"Not even a tent?" asked Draco, feeling his heart sink. While he was no stranger to camping, he'd always used the Malfoy tent in the past, and the Malfoy tent was bigger than most people's houses and equipped with a fully functioning kitchen, bathroom and jacuzzi to boot.

"Not even that," Aragorn replied. He took in their forlorn faces. "It will not kill you," he told them.

"No," said Luna cheerfully. "The agents of the Dark Lord will want to do that." Next to her, Draco howled in despair.

"God, could it get any worse?" Draco wailed. "First, we end up in the distant past, then we find out they've not discovered the joys of indoor plumbing yet, then I find out that there's Dementors with style patrolling the streets at night, and now you tell me I have to trek through the wilderness with only you lot and a talisman of evil for company, and the psychotic minions of the Dark Lord at my heels? My god, does the fun never stop?"

Luna laughed, and even Ginny and Harry tried not to smile, although admittedly it was more at Draco than with him. Hermione however had caught something in his words she wasn't at all sure she liked. She looked at Aragorn, who also appeared concerned.

"Draco," she said carefully, "what did you mean about Dementors with style?"

"Oh," said Draco dismissively, "I saw some earlier. Out in the street. They looked and felt like Dementors, only better dressed. They were in these cool black robes and horses to match, patrolling the streets. I thought at the time it seemed a bit over the top for a night watch, but if there's minions of Sauron on the loose..." He noticed the look of horror on Luna's face and immediately realised perhaps he'd been a little bit hasty.

"_Nazgul_," Luna whispered, horrified. "You saw _Nazgul_! Oh my god Draco, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Draco, quietly beginning to panic. "What is it? What's a Nazgul?"

"Ringwraiths," said Aragorn, and if they hadn't known better, the children could have sworn he looked almost afraid. "There are rings other than the Dark Lord's. The Elves made three for themselves, seven for the Dwarves and nine for mortal Men. However, when the Dark Lord made his, he could ensnare the other rings and bend them to his will. The Elves were able to keep theirs safe, but the Dwarves and Men were not so fortunate. Dwarves are hardy by nature, and it was not easy for Sauron to enslave them, other than through their lust for gold, but Men are weak, and the nine lords who received rings became the Dark Lord's slaves. They did not die, they merely faded, and now they are but wraiths. They are without mercy, without kindness, and they deal in fear. And they are hunting the One Ring for their master."

"And they're in Bree," Hermione whispered.

"We have to get out of here," Ginny whispered, going pale.

"Can't we fight them?" Harry asked. "I mean, if they're like Dementors, I can hold them off..."

"_No_," said Aragorn firmly. "They are nigh invulnerable, although fire will drive them off. It would take a full-grown Istar, or a mighty warrior of either Elves or Men to kill one. I could not do it without great cost to myself, and I could never prevail against all nine together. You could never do it. You said yourselves you have yet to complete your training. No, our best hope is in speed and secrecy. We must leave, and as soon as possible. At first light, we leave for the vale of Imladris, or Rivendell in the language of Men. There you will be safe, at least temporarily."

"But that's three weeks journey away," Hermione whispered, mind racing with horrible visions of all the things that could go wrong in that time.

"It is," said Aragorn. "But be not faint-hearted, Hermione. We have two things in our favour - one, that the Nine seek four hobbits, not five young Istari. While I fear that you will not escape their attention for long, it will at least allow us to be far from here by the time they realise they will not find the ones they seek."

"And the other?" Harry asked.

"The other is that you will have me as your guide," said Aragorn. "I know every half-forgotten path between here and the Misty Mountains. I cannot promise you an easy journey, but I can promise you that they will not find us unless things go truly awry. Now, let us make arrangements! Where is that landlord Butterbur? There is much to do this night."

* * *

Meanwhile, in Hogwarts, the four hobbits had finally been shown to a suite of guest quarters, consisting of four bedrooms, a sitting room, and a bathroom.

Frodo had collapsed in one of the armchairs, still not quite able to believe that the Ring was his to worry about no longer, never mind come to terms with where he'd ended up. Still, he thought to himself as he looked around the room, it was certainly a comfortable enough place at first glance.

He noticed Sam walking around the room, anxiously picking random objects up, dusting them and putting them down again. Of all the hobbits, Sam seemed to have adjusted least well to his new surroundings.

"Sam? Are you all right there?" Frodo asked with a smile. "You can sit down, you know. No one's going to tell you off."

"I know, I know," Sam sighed. "It just don't... It don't feel right, Mr. Frodo!"

"What doesn't, Sam?" Frodo asked.

"This place. Everything!" Sam indicated the room, frustrated. "We've been dragged out here by some weird magic not even the wizards can explain, the Ring's gone, and the quest's over before it's even started!"

"Oh Sam," Frodo sighed. "I think the quest is rather out of our hands now."

"Exactly, Mr. Frodo," said Sam darkly. "Exactly. They said themselves we were summoned here to help them, and what they didn't say was that we're not going home until we've done it. And meanwhile no one knows what we're meant to be doing or even how to reverse the magic. We're stuck here, Mr. Frodo, and while we're stuck here, anything could be happening at home. How do we know that if we ever do get to go back home, there'll even be anywhere to go back to? By the time we get home, Sauron might have got the Ring and burnt the Shire to the ground!" Sam had warmed to the topic and was now pacing up and down wildly. "In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if this were some trick of that Sauron's, or some Barrow-wight dream!"

"Sam, calm down!" said Frodo, getting up and placing a hand on Sam's shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. "I'm sure it's nothing of the kind. I'm certain a Barrow-wight dream wouldn't be so comfortable as this in any case. I think Barrow-wight dreams would have more cold and death in them. Besides, there's an Elf here. They would never side with the Enemy. It's Elbereth who's brought us here, Sam. So they must need us more here, surely?"

Sam was not convinced.

"They don't seem too pleased to see us, Mr. Frodo. That Professor Snape, for example. All in black and glaring at everybody, when he's not staring down his nose at them. He's a nasty piece of work if ever I saw one, Mr. Frodo. And that girl's no better, Miss Pansy. You heard her reaction when Professor Dumbledore told her she had to look after us."

"She probably just didn't want to have to work with Ron Weasley," said Frodo, wanting to give them the benefit of the doubt. "You saw the way the two of them were arguing. It's obvious they don't like each other. Besides, if what Dumbledore says is true, her best friend's just disappeared. She probably just misses him. She might be all right really."

"Believe that when I see it," Sam muttered. However, he was prevented from saying any more by the bathroom door slamming open and Merry and Pippin spilling in to the room.

"Frodo! Sam!" Merry cried. "You've got to have a look at this bathroom! It's amazing!"

"You should see the bath!" Pippin gasped, almost bouncing with excitement. "It's huge! And you don't have to carry water to it to fill it either!"

"You don't?" Frodo asked, exchanging confused looks with Sam. "So how do you fill it then?"

Pippin and Merry both grinned very smugly.

"It's got _taps_," said Merry proudly.

"Taps?" asked Frodo, puzzled. "What, like on beer barrels?"

Pippin nodded. "Exactly like it! Shiny gold ones! You turn them on and out comes water! It's amazing. There's one for hot water and one for cold, one long one on a tube which sprays water on you, one for this stuff like liquid soap which turns into bubbles when you add it to water, and another one with a little dial on it that turns the water different colours!"

"Magic," Merry grinned. "I like this place."

"But that's not even the best bit," said Pippin gleefully. "Do you want to tell them or shall I, Merry?"

"You do it, Pip."

Pippin looked both ways before leaning in. "They've got a self-cleaning privy!"

"What?" Frodo and Sam's jaws both dropped. Indoor toilets were not common in the Shire, and even Bag End's facilities required regular emptying of the contents.

"Told you they'd be impressed," Pippin grinned. "Didn't I say, Merry? I said 'Frodo and Sam won't believe their ears when we tell them about this!' Didn't I tell you, Merry?"

"Yes, Pip, you did," Merry sighed. "Repeatedly. And then you flushed it three times just to see the water going around the bowl, nearly breaking it in the process."

Pippin nodded happily, before realising what Merry had said. "Hey!" he cried indignantly. "I didn't break it! It worked properly again after a bit!"

"Yeah, no thanks to you," said Merry, a little snidely, or so Pippin thought.

"So, this privy," said Sam, determined to find out a little more about it. "It don't need no emptying, then?"

"Oh no," Pippin grinned. "Just pull the little handle on the chain and it'll wash everything away for you."

"So, no having to stagger out the back door and down the garden path in the middle of the night then."

"No."

"Or breaking my back lugging the box to the cesspit every morning?"

"No, none of that," Pippin grinned. Sam stared for a few minutes, contemplating this, before suddenly making a break for the bathroom.

The other hobbits watched him go, all trying not to laugh. Moments later, Sam reappeared, still in shock.

"They're right, Mr. Frodo," he whispered. "There's taps and pipes and everything!" He looked as if he was about to cry tears of gratitude.

"So, do you like this place better now, Sam?" Frodo asked, concealing a grin.

Sam pulled himself together and shrugged.

"I wouldn't say that, Mr. Frodo, sir. All the same though, I think I'll be able to stand being here for a bit. Just for a little while, mind."

"Yes, Sam. Just for a while," said Frodo, relieved that Sam wasn't quite so suspicious as he had been. All the same though, he hoped that it would only be a short while that they stayed there. Luxurious as this new world was, there was a hole in his heart that could only be filled by the wholesome air of the Shire, and the sunlight of Middle Earth.

* * *

_She was dreaming again, dreaming of her lost youth, of more innocent times, of a time when all was peace and happiness and nothing could hurt her, a ten year old girl chasing her younger sisters around the garden under the night sky, dodging in and out of the pools of light cast by the strings of lanterns hanging from the trees. Like the Elves they claimed descent from, they moved as if they belonged there, three little wood nymphs hiding from the grown-up world. At last, she led them to their hiding place, their secret grotto, a little corner of moss-covered stones that had been fashioned into a pond and fountain. Glancing around to make sure that none of the grown-ups had followed them, the little girl with the dark hair and deep black eyes sat down by the water and waited for her sisters, one dark like her and one blonde, to catch up with her. _

_The blonde one was first, little Narcissa, seven years old and devoted to her big sister. Wide-eyed, she curled up at the oldest Black girl's feet. She was swiftly followed by nine year old Andromeda, who settled herself next to Narcissa. Andromeda, being much closer to Bellatrix in age, did not idolise her sister in the way Narcissa did, but nevertheless, even she had to admit that Bellatrix was a born story teller. _

_"Are you going to show us our stars, Bella?" Narcissa breathed, bright blue eyes wide. "And tell us stories about the Elves?" _

_"Would you like me to?" Bellatrix purred. _

_Narcissa nodded eagerly. Andromeda rolled her eyes, but did not say anything. Narcissa was just too cute to tease when she was like this. _

_"Oh all right then," Bellatrix sighed. This little drama had to be played out every time she told a story, with Narcissa and sometimes Andromeda pleading with her, Bella pretending not to be interested and then eventually giving in. Of course, in reality Bellatrix loved telling stories as much as her sisters loved hearing them, but it didn't do for someone nearly old enough for Hogwarts to appear to be too interested in that sort of thing. _

_Pointing upwards, Bellatrix indicated the three stars of Orion's belt. _

_"See the topmost star in Orion's belt? The right-hand one? Well, go upwards from there and a little to the the right again, and do you see that bright star there? That's my star. Bellatrix, the Amazon Star. Female Warrior, that's me." _

_"True enough," Andromeda grinned. She'd experienced Bella's fighting skills at first hand often enough. Bella smirked as she cast about for her sister's constellation. _

_"Now, you see that group of five stars shaped like a W?" _

_Narcissa nodded eagerly. _

_"That's your constellation, that is. Named after Queen Cassiopeia, who was said to be as beautiful as a sea nymph. Because that's your middle name, isn't it? Narcissa Cassiopeia Black." _

_Narcissa clapped her hands in delight, very pleased at being named after a beautiful queen. She'd heard this story many times before, of course, but never grew tired of hearing it again. _

_"But what about Droma?" she persisted. "Where are her stars?" _

_"Well," Bellatrix replied, "if you look at the star in the very middle of your constellation, and follow it south, exactly opposite from the north star, you'll come to a line of three bright stars. See? There they are." _

_"I see them! I see them!" Narcissa squealed, bouncing up and down. _

_"Well, those are Droma's stars. Named after the Princess Andromeda, who got saved from a sea monster." _

_Andromeda glared. "Not fair," she sulked. "How come you two got the cool legends? Bella gets the Amazons, Cissy gets a beautiful queen, I get some brainless Muggle who does nothing other than wait for some man to save her from the horrible monster. You know, I sometimes think Mother and Father hated me." _

_"Not saying a word," Bellatrix smirked, exchanging conspiratorial looks with Narcissa. "But come on. I've saved the best until last." _

_"And what would that be then?" Andromeda sighed, already knowing the answer. _

_"Undomiel the Evenstar," said Bellatrix softly, indicating Venus. "It shares its name with our ancestor, the beautiful Elven princess Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar of her kind, the last flowering of the Elvenkind in their last years on Earth." _

_Narcissa stared at the far-off planet, fascinated. _

_"And do you remember what happened to Arwen, Narcissa?" Bellatrix whispered. _

_"She fell in love with the mortal king Elessar, and founded the House of Telcontar with him," Narcissa whispered. "And the Telcontars in time became the Blacks." _

_"Well done," said Bellatrix softly. "And what became of Arwen after she married Elessar?" _

_"She gave up her immortality and her people to be with him," Narcissa recited. "And after Elessar died, she died too. And the Elves were no more, and their blood was diluted into mere mortal blood. And so we are only mortal, while our far ancestors dwell with the gods even now, a birthright we can never have." _

_"Exactly," said Bellatrix, her eyes cold. "But we Blacks, we never forgot that once we were Eldar, beloved children of Elbereth the Star-Kindler, and so we name our children after the stars in her memory. And what else must we do, Narcissa?" _

_"Never forget Arwen's downfall," said Narcissa, eyes alive with energy as she gazed at her sister. "Never marry beneath us. Always marry our own kind, and keep our bloodline pure. We mustn't have anything to do with Muggles or Muggle-borns, in case we pollute our bloodline. Our family comes first. We are Blacks, _toujours pur_!" _

_"Oh well done, Narcissa," Bellatrix purred. "You are a credit to the family." She turned to Andromeda, and suddenly they were no longer children but grown women, and Andromeda was pregnant with a Mudblood's child. "Unlike you, Droma," Bellatrix snarled. "_Avada Kedavra!_" _

_Andromeda fell to the ground, dead. Narcissa watched, a cruel smile on her face. _

_"Not pure any more," said Narcissa, gloating. _

_"But you and I, we kept the faith, didn't we, Cissy?" said Bellatrix. "We kept our blood pure." _

_"We kept it pure," Narcissa whispered. "Pure, so that one day, we or our descendants might also make it to Valinor and be reunited with our ancestors. Pure, that we might undo Arwen's mistake." _

_"_O Elbereth Gilthoniel_," Bellatrix intoned breathlessly, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she was not in the Black family garden any more. She was in a strange forest, of silver trees with golden leaves. Narcissa was nowhere to be seen. _

_"Where am I?" Bellatrix whispered. _

_"You called me," a woman's voice said from behind her. "So I brought you to me, daughter of Arwen." _

_Bellatrix spun around. Behind her was a woman surrounded by brilliant light, more beautiful than anyone Bellatrix had ever seen before. _

_"Who are you?" Bellatrix asked, shielding her eyes from the light. _

_"Do you not know?" the woman asked sadly. "You named me earlier. I am Varda, also named Elbereth, who is known as the Star-Kindler." _

_"Elbereth?" Bellatrix gaped, before dropping to her knees. "My Lady, forgive me, I had not realised it was you." _

_"Bella, there is no need to bow," said Varda, her voice tender, yet full of sorrow. "Daughter, I have a message for you." _

_"A message?" Bellatrix breathed. _

_Varda nodded. "Bellatrix, I bring a warning. The path you are on - it is not a good one." _

_"Not good - I don't understand," Bellatrix whispered. "I seek only to do your will and purify my country and my people." _

_Varda shook her head. "No, Bella. You go too far. You carry the Elf-blood in your veins, but Middle Earth belongs to Men now. To the Muggles. You Istari can guide, but it is not your task to rule or conquer. If you would seek to wed your fellow Istari alone, I will not gainsay you, but to force that choice on others is madness. Bellatrix, what have you done?" Tears formed on Varda's cheeks. _

_"Lady, I have only ever been your faithful servant," Bellatrix pleaded. What was wrong? Could Varda not sense what the Muggles were doing to Earth, how they wantonly destroyed forests, covered over the green earth, poisoned rivers? Left to themselves, not even the stars would be safe from the taint of the Muggles. You couldn't even see the stars in Muggle cities. _

_"Aye, but 'tis not your place to judge," Varda said sadly. "Bella, you are so far from pure in your soul, it pains me to be near you." _

_Bellatrix's breath caught in her throat, as Varda began to fade. "Lady, don't leave me!" she cried. _

_"I must," Varda whispered. "But if you truly love me, I will give you one chance to redeem yourself." _

_"Yes," Bellatrix wept. "Yes, anything, only tell me what you want!" _

_"Another will use my name," Varda's voice called. "One not human, but like unto them. He will be at your mercy, and he will call on me. When he does so... then will be your chance. If you leave the path you are on at that moment, you will be reunited with me. If not, you will never find the light. Remember, Bella. One who calls on me..." The voice faded._

"Lady!" Bellatrix cried, sitting bolt upright. She caught her breath, remembering where she was. In bed with her still-sleeping husband, in a guest room at Malfoy Manor.

"Just a dream," Bellatrix whispered. "It was just a dream." The same dream she'd been having ever since her wretched cousin fell through the Veil, the one she couldn't really remember, except it involved her sisters, and then a vision of Elbereth bearing a warning. But a warning of what, she had no idea. All she knew was that someone would mention the Star-Kindler's name, and then something would happen. But what it would be, Bellatrix had no way of knowing.

Next to her, Rodolphus stirred. "Bella?" he murmured. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine," said Bellatrix distractedly. "Just a dream."

"Another one?" Rodolphus couldn't help but know how disturbed Bella's sleep had been lately.

"The same," Bellatrix sighed. "The one I never remember, only that I'm a child with my sisters again, then I'm grown up and Elbereth is talking to me."

Rodolphus was fully awake now, stroking his wife's hair comfortingly. "Bella, you can't go on like this. This is the third time this week. We should get to the bottom of this, you know. We should speak with our Master. Maybe He will read your mind, uncover the dream in full, and then we can discover what it means. Clearly someone is trying to tell you something."

Bellatrix shook her head. "No. He will not be able to help. I have already asked Snape for assistance, much as it pained me to do so, and he was not able to uncover the memory."

"I think our Lord is more powerful than Severus Snape, my sweet," Rodolphus scoffed.

"I do not deny it," said Bellatrix softly. "But Snape said he could do no more without damaging me. Azkaban has taken enough from me, love, I will not risk losing more. Would you risk losing me?"

Rodolphus smiled, kissing his wife's hand. "Never." He pulled her into his arms. "Come, if you will not seek aid, at least seek solace. Come to me, and let us forget dreams."

Bellatrix giggled as he rolled on top of her. "Then console me, my darling." Rodolphus was not slow in obliging.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children's parents and guardians have the news of their disappearance broken to them, and as predicted, Narcissa Malfoy is not best pleased. However, it's Remus Lupin's reaction that proves the most unsettling, for Snape at any rate. Meanwhile, the five students set out into the wilds of Eriador, finally setting up camp in the shadow of a hill known as Weathertop...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'd be the part where it starts to get a bit dark and scary. Weathertop wasn't pretty in the book, and it's no better here. There's also some swearing, but not much.
> 
> Also, it is AU in that in this, no one ever told Narcissa what Draco had been asked to do by Voldemort... and so no Unbreakable Vow ever got made. Other AU note – Dumbledore is uninjured, having retrieved the Peverell ring but, on Calenlass's advice, not yet done anything with it.

The sun was barely above the horizon when the five Hogwarts students struggled out of bed. Aragorn had taken an almost sadistic delight in waking the two boys up, and while he'd been rather more charitable when knocking on the girls' bedroom door, that hadn't made it any easier for them.

Fortunately, a good breakfast as laid on by Barliman had done much to revive their spirits, and by the time they had washed, dressed in some more suitable clothes provided by the innkeeper, and eaten, everyone was in a far better mood. Even Draco was reasonably civil, for once.

Aragorn had already slipped away by a back exit, promising to meet them further along the road, out of sight of Bree. Most of the Breefolk were trustworthy, but not all, and there were always some willing to sell information. Aragorn had judged it best if they were not seen leaving with him.

“Typical,” Draco had muttered on hearing this. “Abandoning us already, is he?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry had snapped at him. “He wouldn't desert us. Not everyone's like you, you know.”

“I'm no traitor,” Draco had snarled, and a fight had only narrowly been averted by Ginny intervening and threatening to hex them both if they didn't stop it. Reluctantly, Draco had backed down, while Harry had gone off, sulking.

It was Barliman the innkeeper who had found him.

“Happen as young Master Malfoy might have a point, mind you,” said the innkeeper carefully. “You've only just met Strider and now you're heading off into the wilderness with him. Are you sure you know what you're about, young Harry?”

“I know what I'm doing,” Harry scowled. “Strider's not going to betray us. Why does no one trust him?”

“Well, you know your own mind, I'm sure,” Barliman replied. “But you wouldn't be the first to go off with that Strider, not by a long chance. And I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't warn you that those as leave with him have a nasty habit of not coming back.”

“That's hardly Strider's fault,” said Harry, bristling. “We've got a dangerous road ahead. If we don't come back, it won't be any fault of his.”

“That's as may be,” said Barliman darkly. “But no road's safe when you're travelling with brigands, and just you remember that, young Harry.”

Harry nodded – the innkeeper was only looking out for him after all.

“Thank you, Mr. Butterbur. I'll keep it in mind.” However, it wasn't Aragorn he had concerns about.

* * *

The departure from Bree passed without incident – a few people gave them curious glances, but nothing was said; nor was there any sign of any of the Nazgul. Some of the village children ran after them to see what they were up to, but as they turned the corner and passed out of sight of Bree, following the road towards the small forest known as the Chetwood, even they dropped back. Finally, the five of them were alone again.

“Well, there goes civilisation,” sighed Ginny sadly. “No more nights in comfy beds for the next three weeks.”

Hermione and Draco both looked indescribably miserable at this. Out of the five of them, they were the two least used to physical hardship.

Harry noticed Hermione's expression and smiled. “Don't worry, Hermione,” he said gently. “It might not be as bad as all that.”

Hermione smiled weakly. “Thanks,” she said, “but I think we both know it's going to be tough. We don't even have the ponies any more.” Strider had made them leave four of the ponies at the inn, to be returned to their owner's home in the Shire. They were now down to just the one, a shy grey pony that was being used as a pack pony, and which Draco, in a fit of whimsy, had decided to call Neville. Oddly enough, it seemed to have taken a fancy to Draco, and odder still, Draco seemed to like it back. He was even now following behind, leading the pony by the reins and talking to it.

“That, and we have to put up with him,” Harry muttered, indicating Draco. “What are the odds on both of us making it to Riverdell without killing each other?”

“Rivendell,” Hermione corrected. “And you'll be fine. You know Malfoy, without his friends to back him up, he's too cowardly to try anything. And Aragorn won't put up with anything like that anyway. Let's just concentrate on getting there safely. Then hopefully someone there will know how to get home, and we won't have to worry any more.”

“I hope so,” said Harry, fingering the Ring around his neck. “I really hope so.” However, part of him was not so sure it would be as simple as that. He had the unsettling feeling that this world would not be done with him so easily, and if the Ring truly did have an agenda of its own, then things were likely to take a turn for the worse sooner than he might wish.

“Speaking of Aragorn, where is he?” said Hermione, frowning. “He said he'd meet us once we were away from Bree. Well, we're far enough away now, aren't we?”

“He's probably abandoned us,” said Draco cheerfully. “Told you he would. Someone probably offered him a better deal. Can't say I blame him myself – if I'd had any choice in the matter, I'd have cut and run too.”

Harry whirled on Draco. “For the last time, Malfoy, he has not abandoned us!” Harry shouted. “He wouldn't do that to us! He's trustworthy!”

Both Ginny and Hermione went for their wands, but fortunately the fight was averted as Aragorn himself stepped out of the woods.

“I'm glad to hear you think so, Harry,” he said with a smile, stepping noiselessly out of what Harry could have sworn had been just leaves and shadow a second before.

“Aragorn!” Harry gasped, forgetting Draco in an instant. Unconscious of the grin on his face, he ran over to where the Ranger was waiting.

“It's, er, good to see you again,” he said nervously, fighting the temptation to fling his arms around the older man, remembering just in time that this was not his godfather after all, but someone he'd only met yesterday.

“I am pleased to see you arrive safely too,” said Aragorn. “May I take it you had no ill-fortune?”

Harry shook his head. “What, apart from having Malfoy with us? No, everything went fine.”

“I heard that, Potter!” Draco shouted from where he was tending to Neville the pony.

Harry rolled his eyes, and shared a grin with Aragorn.

“You argue like brothers,” said Aragorn, amused. Harry grimaced at this.

“He's no brother of mine, thank god.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow but did not answer, addressing the others instead. “Well now, are we ready? The easy part ends here – from this point onwards, you can expect nothing but discomfort and danger until we reach Rivendell. If there is any among you not prepared for this, my advice is to turn back now and make for Bree. Well?”

“Do we have a choice?” Ginny sighed.

“You always have a choice,” said Aragorn, not ungently. Ginny just laughed.

“Rubbish.” She stepped forward. “Come on, let's get cracking. Sooner we start, the sooner we're there. Where are you taking us?”

“Follow me, and I'll tell you,” Aragorn replied. And with that, he led them off the Road and into the woods.

For the first few days, things went smoothly enough. Aragorn led them on a winding route through the Chetwood, in order to throw off anyone that might try to trace them, and the days passed with very little in the way of tension. The sun was shining, the weather was pleasant, and even Draco, nature lover that he was, didn't bother causing trouble. There were a few little difficulties involving matters of personal hygiene, but it was surprising what discreetly nipping into the trees, cleaning charms, silencing charms, and the usual English practice of pretending nothing had happened could do.

And then day three dawned, and they left the Chetwood for the aptly named Midgewater Marshes. Morale immediately deteriorated at this point, with even the country dwelling nature lovers wondering what on earth they were doing there. Harry and Hermione, on the other hand, were rapidly losing the will to live. By the fourth night from Bree, having spent two days covered in mud and water and being plagued by midges, and two nights being kept awake by frogs and crickets, Harry found himself wishing he'd never gone after that Red Book in the first place. _When I see Professor Calenlass again, I swear I'm going to hex him until there's nothing left but a pair of smoking boots. I don't care what Hermione says._ Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch, which he'd set against the village clock in Bree. Four o'clock in the morning, and he didn't feel remotely sleepy, although he certainly felt tired. It looked like another night of no sleep. Wonderful.

Glancing around, he noticed he wasn't the only one awake. Silhouetted against a strange light in the east that surely wasn't sunrise was Aragorn, watching the light as it flared up, then died, only to flare again.

“What's up?” Harry asked, joining him. “What's that light?”

“I do not know,” said Aragorn, and he sounded concerned. “It is no natural phenomenon that I have seen before... and I have walked these lands for many years.”

“A supernatural phenomenon?” said Harry, part of him hoping that there was another magic user out there... and part of him wondering if meeting this magic user was a good thing or not.

“As to that, Harry, I was hoping you would be able to tell me,” said Aragorn, smiling thinly. “To my eyes, it resembles nothing more than lightning, except it comes from the ground rather than the sky.”

Harry closed his eyes, his intuition confirmed. “It's magic alright,” he said. “I don't know what sort though – lots of things could look like that from a distance. Do you think it has something to do with the Ringwraiths?”

“It may be,” Aragorn replied. “And yet they do not have power such as that, which gives me hope it may be someone else more friendly to our cause.”

“You think it might be that wizard, Gandalf?” Harry asked, trying to remember everything that Aragorn had said about him, which wasn't much. Hermione had asked Aragorn if there were wizards here and Aragorn had responded that there were five, emissaries of the Valar sent to help mankind against Sauron. Gandalf was one of them, and the one who had sent the hobbits on their quest.

Aragorn didn't answer. Harry watched the light again, not feeling reassured. Impossible to know what spells those were, of course, but you didn't use magic like that every day.

“You think he's there and in trouble, don't you,” said Harry softly. “That the Nazgul found him and he's fighting them. Because that looks like battle magic to me.”

“I think so too,” said Aragorn. However, he made no move to do anything.

“So, er, shouldn't we go and help?” said Harry nervously. Aragorn said nothing, turning to face him with an eyebrow raised. Harry realised that Aragorn had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

“You're just going to stand there and watch Gandalf or whoever it is get slaughtered by the Ringwraiths?” Harry demanded.

“What other choice do I have?” said Aragorn coldly. “Harry, we are on foot, and the source of that light is many miles away. By the time we arrived it would be far too late. It is three days away at least. If it is Gandalf, believe me, he is more than capable of looking after himself and does not need help from us. If it is not Gandalf, then we are best served by waiting, and going there in daylight. At night the Nazgul are at their strongest. If they are there, the last thing that we should be doing is taking the Ring to them.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Harry admitted, reaching for the Ring to check that it was still there. The golden band felt oddly heavy in his hand, but at least it was there. Reassured, Harry let it go.

“Clearly. Which is why it is a good thing I am here,” said Aragorn. His voice softened. “Harry, you are a brave young man, and your desire to help and do the right thing is commendable. At your age I dare say I'd have done the same thing. But if you want to survive to see old age, there are times when you need to listen to your head rather than your heart, otherwise you are going to get yourself killed. At worst, you may get other people killed too.”

Harry nodded. “I know,” he whispered, trying to shut out the image that haunted his nightmares, the awful sight of Sirius falling back through the veil. “So what do you suggest then?”

“Well, I judge that the light is coming from a hill by the name of Weathertop, which I was going to head for myself. So I intend to stay with that plan and make for Weathertop as cautiously and secretly as possible. Then we shall climb it by day, and see what is there.”

“Will Gandalf meet us there, do you think?” said Harry.

“I do not know. He may not even be there. Certainly there is little chance of us running into him – it will not be safe for either him or us to wait long. If the Nazgul do not find us on the Road, they are likely to make for Weathertop themselves – it commands a good view of the country. And in truth, I am not entirely sure I want to meet Gandalf again just yet.”

“Why not?” asked Harry, curious. “He's on our side, isn't he?”

“Yes he is,” said Aragorn, amused. “However, I do not know how he will react to the news that I have managed to lose the hobbits, and that the Ring is now in the care of five child wizards from the distant future. He is not noted for his patience at the best of times, and I was hoping not to have to break this news to him until we reached Rivendell.”

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that. And seeing Harry laugh broke through Aragorn's habitual dour exterior, causing the Ranger to laugh too. For a few brief moments, all cares were forgotten... until a voice that could only be Ginny's called out:

“Will you two go to bed?? I'm trying to sleep over here!”

Followed by Draco growling, “Nice one, Weasley, now we're all awake.”

Aragorn looked away, still grinning. “Go on, go back to bed, Harry. We have a long road tomorrow.”

“Don't we always?” Harry sighed, as he slipped under his blanket. As he closed his eyes, the last thing he saw was Aragorn still watching the horizon.

* * *

“Missing?” Narcissa's voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the steel within. “What do you mean, missing? How can he be missing??”

“Mrs. Malfoy, I understand this must come as quite a shock to you...” Dumbledore began. In the far corner, Snape snorted dismissively. 'A bit of a shock' was something of an understatement. Narcissa was very protective of her son.

“DON'T patronise me, Dumbledore!” Narcissa shouted, slamming the desk. “Just tell me where he is!”

“Well, Mrs. Malfoy,” said Dumbledore calmly, “his exact location is proving difficult to pin down; however, according to Professor Calenlass, it would appear that he had gone on an illicit venture to the Restricted Section, had a look in one of the forbidden books and got himself sucked into the past.”

“In the -” Narcissa went very quiet, a move which Snape instantly recognised as signifying that someone was in for a whole world of trouble. Getting to her feet, she strode over to the hapless Defence professor and prodded him in the chest.

“Find my son,” she hissed. “Find him and bring him back to school. And if anything has happened to him in the mean time, I will personally see you out of a job and this school under the control of a competent administrator!”

Calenlass inclined his head solemnly. “What I can, I will do, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“You'd better,” Narcissa snapped. Turning away, she strode out, head held high.

“Well?” Dumbledore asked, sagging in his seat. “How did that go, Severus?”

“You are both still alive and unharmed, so it was not a complete disaster. In truth, you handled it as well as could be expected. She could have reacted worse. For now at least, we have time and leeway. However, if Draco is not back within a few months, I think she could cause us a significant amount of trouble.”

“Headmaster, by your leave,” Calenlass began. Dumbledore shook his head.

“No, Calenlass. I think it best we keep your little secret under wraps for now.”

Calenlass shrugged. “As you wish. But she is of Elessar's kin, if we tell her he has gone back to the Third Age, I believe she will 'come round', as you say.”

“Elessar's kin she may be, but she is also a follower of Lord Voldemort,” said Dumbledore coldly. “Her husband was his right-hand man, her sister is still his most devoted follower. I do not know if Narcissa ever took the Mark; my instincts tell me she did not. But she is surely in sympathy with his aims.”

Calenlass closed his eyes, seemingly in pain. “Ah, Elessar, how has your bloodline fallen! We can but hope that young Draco restores it, but I know not how with such parents.”

“Patience, Calenlass,” Snape heard himself saying as he made for the door. “Narcissa is not as steeped in evil as all that. And Draco may yet surprise us all.”

* * *

Narcissa had not gone far when Snape caught up with her. He found her in the Entrance Hall, sitting at the foot of the stairs, all her earlier bravado gone. Now she was just leaning against the bannister, her mane of blonde hair hanging in front of her face, gleaming in the torchlight. It was getting late in the evening, and there was no one else around – Narcissa would never have shown this side of her nature if there had been. However, Snape wasn't just anyone.

Narcissa twisted around as she heard him approach, relaxing as she saw who it was. Turning back around, she rested her head against the bannister once more and returned to wallowing in misery.

“Narcissa?” Snape asked gently as he came to sit next to her. “Are you alright?”

“Do I look it?” came the sullen response.

“I'm not answering that,” Snape replied, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Last time I intimated you looked anything less than stunning, you tried to hex me.”

Narcissa did laugh a little at that. “I remember. Lucius was very cross with me afterwards. He said he was going on his own to Parents' Evening in future if I was going to make a habit of hexing the teachers.” Her voice faltered, as she remembered that Lucius wouldn't be going to Parents' Evening ever again, and that if Draco did not turn up, there wouldn't be a Parents' Evening to go to anyway. “Oh god,” she moaned softly, placing a hand to her mouth as the tears started to flow.

Snape put his arm around the crying woman's shoulder, pulling her to him without a word. First her husband dead, now her son gone; it was a wonder she'd been coping as well as she had. For the first time, he began to have misgivings about this plan of Calenlass's. Yes it would save Draco from going the same way as his father, but he hadn't reckoned on how the boy's mother would manage. Even so, it would have been even harder for Narcissa to see her son returning home in a coffin, of that he was sure.

“What's happening to him, Severus?” Narcissa wept softly. “My little boy, my little dragon! Anything could happen to him! Anything at all! I don't think I could bear it if I lost him as well, I simply couldn't bear it! Oh Severus!” She cried helplessly into Snape's robes.

“Oh Narcissa,” he sighed, stroking his hair. “I know, I know. At least he is safe from the Dark Lord now.”

“Our Dark Lord, you mean,” said Narcissa. “There's no telling what might be happening to him back then. At least I can Portkey him to America and hide him if Voldemort tries to give him the Mark... what?” She had noticed the look on Snape's face. “Oh no. Severus...”

“Bella never told you,” Snape said softly. “Oh Narcissa, I'm so sorry.”

“When?” Narcissa whispered. “When did it happen?”

“Over the summer. It was done as a small secret ceremony, just Draco and the Dark Lord, with Bellatrix as a witness; I didn't find out until after. It was just after Lucius's funeral - the Dark Lord asked Draco if he wanted to avenge his father and Draco said yes. So Draco got given the Mark and the job of trying to assassinate Dumbledore. Narcissa, I'm sorry-”

“Don't,” Narcissa cut him off. “Don't say anything more!” She refused to even look at him. The tears had stopped, but she was physically shaking. “That you, that my _sister_, knew and neither of you bothered to tell me, damn you Severus, he is my _son!_” She snarled the last word at him, backing away and getting to her feet. “Were you _ever_ going to tell me??”

“And what would you have done, Narcissa?” Severus snapped. “He is head of the Malfoy family now his father is dead, and he made the decision voluntarily. Had you intervened, the Dark Lord would have punished you for disloyalty and Draco would still have gone along with it. At least this way, you are safe and now so is he. The Dark Lord is powerful but even he cannot reach into the past.”

“No and _nor can anyone else!_” Narcissa hissed. “Damn you, Severus. Damn you to Hades.” Her voice faded to a whisper and, folding her arms, she turned away.

Snape said nothing – what was there to say? Some wounds were beyond comforting words. They stayed like that for some time... until someone approached them from upstairs.

Narcissa straightened up, horrified at the thought of someone seeing her with her mascara doubtless running, and generally looking less than perfect. Snape turned to see who it was. Standing behind them was a scruffily dressed wizard with Spellotaped glasses, a quill wedged behind one ear, untidy blond hair down to his shoulders and blue eyes that had the uncanny habit of staring just a bit too long and too brightly. For a minute, Snape wondered where he recognised the man from, before the eyes reminded him. Luna's equally insane and irritating father, Xenophilus. No doubt here for the same reason Narcissa had been summoned.

“Mr. Lovegood. Can I help you?” Snape inquired acidly, hoping the man would take the hint and leave. No such luck. Xeno Lovegood hadn't got where he was with the ability to pick up on social cues.

“Professor Snape, isn't it?” said Xenophilus brightly. “Luna's told me all about you!”

“Has she,” said Snape, wondering why the staircases never opened up and swallowed people when you wanted them to.

“Oh yes,” Xenophilus nodded. “She really enjoys your lessons.”

Snape found that hard to believe. He was slightly easier on the Ravenclaws than the Gryffindors, but not by much. However, he was struggling to recall having had much interaction with Luna. She was one of those students that seemed to constantly slip through life unnoticed.

Xenophilus's eyes fell on Narcissa, who was looking away, determinedly pretending that he wasn't there; not that he noticed, of course.

“And you must be Mrs. Malfoy! They told me your son's been sucked into the past too. Isn't it exciting?”

“Exciting?” said Narcissa, her voice dangerously soft.

“Oh yes, it's the most interesting thing to happen to our family since Elizabeth-” he stopped. “Well, never mind that. But all the same, Professor Dumbledore told me what happened, and it's all absolutely fascinating! Luna'll have some wonderful stories to tell when she gets back, I'm sure.” Something seemed to occur to him. “I say, you wouldn't be interested in being interviewed, would you? Only this would make a great story for the _Quibbler_...” His voice trailed off as he became aware that something was not quite right. Narcissa was glaring at him with a gaze that could punch holes right through Hogwarts' walls given time.

“Severus,” said Narcissa, her voice trembling just slightly. “I do believe I am feeling unwell. I will have to excuse myself and return home. Goodnight, Severus.”

Head held high, she flounced out, ignoring the other man entirely. Snape bade her goodnight before turning to the hapless Xeno.

“Mr. Lovegood. Given that the woman lost her husband mere months ago, and has now lost her beloved only child too, with no knowledge of how he is or even if he'll ever return, do you not think it was a tad unwise to suggest that she might find the prospect exciting?”

“But think of all that they could be lear-” He stopped. No one ignored that stare for long. “No, perhaps not,” he said softly, looking at his feet. “Do you think she'll be alright?”

“Eventually,” said Snape coldly. “However, I pity her house elf.”

“Oh dear,” said Xenophilus. “Should I go and apologise-”

“No,” said Snape firmly. “You are probably the last person she wishes to see at the moment.”

There was an awkward silence. Xenophilus shuffled his feet, clearly uneasy – although most people generally were when Professor Snape looked at them like that.

“I'd, er, best be going then,” he said, edging towards the foot of the stairs.

“That might be best.”

“Yes. I'll, er, um, yes. Quite.” He made for the door. However, before he left, he turned back to Professor Snape, face sombre for the first time.

“Professor, do you think they'll be alright?”

Snape hesitated. On the one hand he didn't want to get the man's hopes up... and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to be as blunt as he'd like to be either.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “But their chances are as good as they would be here. At least in Arda, no one is actively seeking them.”

Xenophilus nodded. “I hope so,” he said sadly. “Elizabeth taught her what she could before she died, and Luna's a very bright girl... but Arda's dangerous and if anything happened to her...” He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he just nodded at Snape, and left.

Feeling more ill at ease than he'd done since Calenlass had first suggested this brilliant idea, Snape made for his office.

* * *

The first thing Snape noticed on his return was that the wards had been taken down. That wasn't a good sign. Within seconds, his wand was in his hand. Only McGonagall and Dumbledore had the password to his office, and he was certain neither of them would have gone in there without telling him. Which meant someone was in there, someone... unauthorised.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned the door handle, using it as a shield so any magic would hit the door and not him. Then, he flung it open, darting into the room, still half-hidden by the door, wand pointed at the intruder who was daring to sit in _his _chair, warming his hands by _his_ fire, if you please!

“What are you doing here?” he snarled. The intruder glanced up, nonchalantly looking him over, looking irritatingly casual and self-assured despite the second hand robes and the greying brown hair. Snape glared at him, trying to look dignified despite the fact that the other man's attitude was making him feel that perhaps he'd overreacted. Getting to his feet and smoothing his clothes down, Remus Lupin got to his feet.

“Waiting for you,” Lupin replied. “Dumbledore gave me the password.”

“Did he,” said Snape, making a mental note to have a word with the old fool in the morning. “And what have I done to deserve the pleasure?”

“Oh I think you know,” said Lupin, suddenly appearing rather more dangerous than Snape had previously thought possible. Snape backed away, but before he could put sufficient distance between him and the werewolf, Lupin had covered the distance between them and slammed him up against the wall, fists clutching the front of his robes. “I knew you didn't like him, Severus, but I never thought you'd go to these lengths to get rid of him!”

“What are you – ow!” Lupin, growling, had shoved him into the stonework.

“Was that your game, was it?!” Lupin snarled. “You don't want the blood on your hands directly, so you join forces with that inhuman _fiend_ and dispatch him to the past to get killed! Very clever, Severus! I suppose disposing of Ginny, Hermione and Luna was just an added bonus? You've always thought Hermione was an annoying know-it-all, your mockery of the _Quibbler_ is legendary, and who cares if there's one less Weasley in the world, there's plenty more at home after all!” Lupin's eyes were like coals, hate and fury burning out of them. “Molly is in _tears_ up there because of you! Arthur looks like he's about to collapse. That year the Chamber was opened was bad enough – this is worse!” Lupin's mouth was twisted in an ugly expression of hate that Snape couldn't recall ever have seeing on the normally placid ex-Gryffindor's face before. Lupin didn't do hate and rage, did he? Lupin was always so self-controlled, so calm. Snape wasn't sure he liked it. Psychotic rage in itself he could handle... but not from Lupin. Not safe, reassuring, Remus Lupin, a comforting presence even when Snape hated every bone in his body. Not Old Reliable himself. The rules of the game seemed to have been fundamentally rewritten, and Snape had no idea what his role in all this was.

“You make me sick,” Lupin hissed. “Why couldn't you have died, hmm? Why couldn't _you _have gone through the Veil instead, eh? Who'd have missed you? But no, Sirius had to die instead, and now I've lost them both. You utter _bastard!_”

Snape said nothing, just staring back at him, wondering exactly when Lupin's words had gained the power to hurt him. Not that there were tears in his eyes. Of course not. For a moment, both men stared into each others' eyes... and then Lupin seemed to realise that maybe he'd gone too far.

“Severus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that-” he stammered, letting go of him and backing away.

“Oh really. And pray, how many ways are there exactly to interpret 'I wish you'd died and Black had lived so none of this would be happening', hmm?” Snape sneered back at him, taking refuge in sarcasm.

“Severus, that's not what – I don't really want you dead,” said Lupin, desperately reaching out for him. Snape brushed him away.

“I think you've made yourself quite clear, Lupin, so why don't you kindly fuck off and leave me in peace for the evening?”

“Severus-” Lupin began, but the sound of the door opening again interrupted him. Lupin turned to see who had come in, and froze on seeing Calenlass glide in. Calenlass halted as he caught sight of Lupin, staring icily at the werewolf.

“You,” Lupin breathed, enough venom packed in that one syllable to knock out a baby elephant.

“I thought you'd be here, Beast,” said Calenlass, reaching for his wand. “Trying to finish the job, are you?”

“Finish the-” Lupin had gone very pale at these words. Snape, sensing an eruption imminent, took firm hold of his wand and backed off. He didn't know what the outcome of a fight between an elf and a werewolf-wizard would be, but he did know it wouldn't be pretty.

“I'm trying to find out what you've done with the son of my best friends!” Lupin snarled. “You think I'm a monster? Try looking in the mirror! I'm only a danger once a month. You're a cold-hearted demon every day!”

“Demon??” Calenlass slipped his wand away, slipping twin daggers into his hand instead. “Monster, I will have your miserable hide for this insult!”

“Bring it on, fiend!” Lupin growled, brandishing his wand and moving in. Snape by this time had had enough.

“_Expelliarmus!_” Two wands and two daggers flew into the air, landing in a heap by the door. Lupin and Calenlass both spun around to face him.

“What did you do that for??” Lupin demanded. “You heard what he called me!”

“I know, and I also heard what you called him,” said Snape tersely. “As I would rather not have blood all over my office, may I suggest that the two of you save your quarrel for another time? I have quite enough to do breaking up fights between the students. I do not want to have to do the same with Order members.”

“He's an Order member now??” Lupin cried. Calenlass just smirked.

“Dumbledore's lost it,” said Lupin, disbelieving. “I never thought I'd see it, but the old man has finally lost his marbles.”

“I don't entirely believe he ever had them in the first place,” Snape replied calmly. “But nevertheless, Calenlass is working for us. Therefore, as killing him would not win you any friends, might I recommend you refrain from doing so?”

Lupin glared at the Elf, clearly not pleased at the prospect, but not feeling ethically inclined to protest either. “Fine. But don't expect me to like it.” Pausing only to reclaim his wand, he stalked out. Calenlass watched him go, pointedly flinching as he passed, before turning to Snape.

“How you can stand up for that animal is beyond me, Severus,” he shivered, taking a seat.

“I am not 'standing up' for him,” Snape replied irritably, opening the secret drawer in his desk which always included a bottle of Firewhiskey and a pair of tumblers. “I was merely trying to avert a fight in my office. I do not want my ingredients ruined and my equipment destroyed, thank you very much.”

Calenlass was watching him closely. “Were you really.”

“Of course,” said Snape, pouring himself a tumbler of whiskey. “I would offer you some, but experience has taught me the stuff is wasted on you.”

Calenlass did smile at that, recalling several memorable drinking contests, all of which had ended with the unfortunate challenger passed out on the floor and him wishing the annoying tingling in his fingers would go away. Elvish metabolic systems were far more efficient than the human equivalents, and mere mortal alcohol had virtually no effect on them.

“How you can take any pleasure from that poison is beyond me, Severus,” Calenlass remarked. “But then, given that you can feel affection for a monster, I'm hardly surprised.”

“He is not a monster!” Snape slammed the bottle down with more force than he'd really intended, spilling the amber liquid on the table. Hastily, he cast a few cleaning charms before it could stain anything. “And I do not feel any affection for him,” he added, although with far less certainty this time.

“No?” Calenlass said drily. “Your heart says otherwise.”

“My heart?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “Your eyesight is good indeed if you can detect that. I have spent most of my adult life attempting to become thoroughly heartless.”

“Even you have feelings, Severus. However, you always seem to end up lavishing them on the wrong people.” Calenlass looked at him sadly. “First the Death Eaters, now Lupin.”

“Lupin's nothing like the Death Eaters, any of them,” Snape snapped. “I do not like the man, in fact I positively detest him. However, he is not cruel or malicious. I have never seen him torture or kill anything for fun, and apart from you, he seems well disposed to nearly everyone. Calenlass, what exactly did you do to arouse his wrath?”

“Nothing!” he protested. “Severus, it is nothing personal, I assure you. I can sense the evil in him, and he knows it. What is more, he can tell I'm not human either, and he doesn't like it.” Calenlass smiled crookedly. “It has always been thus: the creatures of Sauron have always hated the Eldar. We are what they can never be, true children of Eru and unlike men, incorruptible, and they hate us for it.”

“Remus Lupin is no servant of the Dark Lord,” Snape replied quietly. “He would never join him willingly.”

“No, but the man in him might not be the one making the choice,” said Calenlass. “Severus, the wolf is within him, his very blood is tainted, and it makes me nauseous whenever I am near him. You, you are Eldar-descended, how can you bear it?”

Snape did not answer, merely rolling down his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark beneath. He was slightly gratified to see Calenlass flinch from it.

“He is not the only one to be tainted,” said Snape, covering it again.

“Yes, but you are still human, for all that,” Calenlass protested.

“So was he once,” said Snape. “I do not like him, in fact I'm very sure I despise him. But I will not lose him to the wolf.”

“Your pet project, is he?” Calenlass remarked with a wry grin.

“Why yes, I suppose he is,” said Snape, amused. “It's always nice having a willing subject available for experimenting on.”

Calenlass just snorted at this. “Humans. This is why Dark Lords keep arising, you know. Because people like you insist on keeping evil around as a toy to play with instead of wiping it out at source.”

“Not at all,” Snape replied. “Incalculable benefits could come from this research. If I can discover a foolproof cure for lycanthropy, thousands will benefit.” He paused, before adding, “The fame and fortune wouldn't hurt either.”

Calenlass nodded, his beliefs confirmed. “Humans. Obsessed with the ends over the means.”

Snape did fall silent at that, brooding over his whisky.

“Are we doing the right thing, Calenlass? In sending the children back, I mean.”

Calenlass looked surprised he'd asked. “Of course we are, Severus. Elbereth herself commanded this. We are doing the will of the Valar. How can it be wrong?”

“We sent five young children back to face who knows what, into a past every bit as dangerous as the present – more so in some ways because they do not know what forms danger takes there, and they do not have Hogwarts to protect them,” Snape reminded him. “They might survive and return with both worlds all the better for it. Or they might not return at all. Narcissa is devastated by her son's disappearance. She is already a widow; if she loses her son, it will destroy her. Remus Lupin is neither a blood relative nor a legal guardian of Potter's, but ties of friendship are as strong to him as family bonds are to others. At the moment, he is merely furious, but when he calms down, I dare say even the wolf will mourn. Arthur and Molly Weasley are both distraught, and even Lovegood is anxious for his daughter's return. I don't know how Miss Granger's parents are reacting, but they assuredly won't take the news too well. Calenlass, was it truly for the best to send children, and without even asking them first? At least the hobbits are adults among their kind, with no close kin to miss them.”

Calenlass squeezed Snape's arm reassuringly. “Severus, I understand your fears. But trust Elbereth. She knows what she is doing. She can see what we cannot. She will see them safely home, I am sure.”

“I hope you're right,” Snape said, not wanting to think how Lupin and Narcissa would react if Calenlass was wrong. “For all our sakes.”

* * *

The children were now seven days from Bree, making for the hill Aragorn had called Weathertop. Aragorn had taken them due east towards the line of hills of which Weathertop was the southernmost. It had taken two days to fully leave the marshes behind, although the landscape had dried out a bit. They were now travelling south along a track which wound its way along the side of the hills. It was the first proper track they'd seen since leaving the Chetwood.

“I wonder who made this,” said Hermione, ever curious about these things. “It looks rather like the barrows did.” She indicated the stones that flanked the path on each side. “Was it the same people, Aragorn?”

“Indeed it was, Hermione. You are most observant,” Aragorn said, rather impressed. “The Men of the West never really lived here, but in later years, when war split the kingdoms, forts were built along these hills, with this track built to serve them. And long before, in the first days of the North Kingdom of Arnor, there was a great watchtower on Weathertop, by the name of Amon Sul. Nothing is left of it now, just a broken ring of stones, crowning the hill like an exiled king.” He seemed to smile bitterly at this, as if there were some great irony in this statement.

They reached Weathertop itself by midday. Ginny and Hermione found a dell halfway up the hill, nestling at the foot of a sheltered hollow. Ginny immediately flung herself down, desperate for a rest. Draco and Luna were also eager for a break, Draco tying up the pony before stretching out in order to sunbathe. After a bit of discussion, it was decided that Aragorn would climb to the top of the hill to spy out the land while it was still daylight. Harry and Hermione volunteered to go with him, and after an hour, they reached the top.

As Aragorn had said, the top consisted of a ring of ruined stonework, long overgrown. However, in the centre was a small cairn of stones, blackened as if from fire. Indeed, inside the circle, the whole ground appeared blackened and charred.

Hermione ran to the cairn, immediately whipping out her wand and testing the area for magical residue. While Aragorn examined the cairn itself, Hermione analysed the traces of magic that were still in the soil.

“Well?” Harry asked, guessing that if anyone could find out what caused it, Hermione could.

“Fire magic,” came the reply. “But the magical signature is like nothing I've ever seen before, and the power...!” She looked up at Harry, disturbed. “Whoever did this is powerful. _Really _powerful. And... I don't think they were human. Not fully human anyway.”

Harry turned to Aragorn, who had been listening in.

“Nazgul?”

Aragorn shook his head. “Not with fire magic. They hate fire – it is everything they are not. No Nazgul would be using fire magic.”

“But if someone were attacked by them, they might use fire magic to defend themselves?” said Hermione.

“They might.”

“There are non-human races here, aren't there?” said Hermione, recalling what both Aragorn and Luna had told them so far. “Some of whom are on our side, am I right?”

Aragorn confirmed that this was the case.

“So might it be one of them?” Hermione asked. “The Elves have magic, don't they?” She glanced at the ground, frowning. “But the magic, it's very similar to ours, except far more powerful. That's what I don't get. Why would an Elf have human magic?”

“Not an Elf,” said Harry. “A wizard. A Middle Earth wizard. They look human, but you said that here they're called Istari and they came from the Valar originally. Gandalf?”

Aragorn did not reply. Instead, he picked up a stone that seemed to have escaped the inferno and tossed it to Harry, who caught it with ease.

“See what you make of that.”

Harry looked at it, Hermione peering over his shoulder. It was marked with what looked like a series of strokes. Harry frowned. It meant nothing to him. Hermione, however, was better versed in these things.

“That looks like it could be a rune on the left,” she said thoughtfully. “A rune, don't know which one offhand, besides this is probably too ancient even for Hogwarts to teach, and three strokes. The number 3?”

Aragorn nodded his approval, impressed. “Very good, Hermione. The rune is, I think, a G rune, and I think it means G3. I believe it signifies that Gandalf was here on the third, three nights ago now. I also believe that he was in a hurry and did not dare write anything plainer.”

“The lights we saw,” Harry whispered. Aragorn nodded.

“I believe so.”

“But he's not here now,” said Hermione, looking worried. “Did the Nazgul follow him? Or are some of them still around?”

Aragorn sighed, heavy hearted. “I wish I could tell. My hope is that Gandalf escaped and that the Nine followed him. But it is possible that they plan to return. We should not linger up here.”

Hermione digested this in silence. “How far have we still got to go?” she asked softly.

“The distance has not been measured since the days of Arnor, and that kingdom is long gone. But I can tell you how long it would take me, on my own feet and with no ill-fortune: twelve days from here to the Ford of Bruinen, which is the entrance to Rivendell.”

“And how long would it take us?” Hermione asked, guessing only too well that 'no ill-fortune' was not something that was likely to apply to them.

“I do not think we will reach there before a fortnight's end.”

“A fortnight!” Hermione whispered, dismayed. “Anything could go wrong in a fortnight.”

“It could,” Aragorn answered. Neither of them had any idea how right they'd prove to be.

* * *

It was Harry who saw them first. Feeling homesick in a way he'd never really done before – after all, no one could miss the Dursleys – Harry had been staring moodily at the Road, wondering where it would take them, and if it would ever take them home. Until he saw a sight that chilled his bones – two black specks creeping westward. Worse still, there were three more approaching eastwards to meet them. Harry couldn't make out any details, but there weren't many other travellers on the Road that it could be.

“Aragorn!” he hissed. Aragorn looked up from where he was talking to Hermione and came to join him. He took one look at the specks and dragged both children down out of sight.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, trying to wriggle out from underneath Aragorn's arm and see what the fuss was about.

“I do not know but I fear the worst,” said Aragorn. “Do not use your magic, either of you. They can sense its use and will surely come to investigate.”

“You think it's them, don't you,” Harry whispered. Aragorn nodded.

“I fear it is so. Come, let us find the others, warn them of the danger.”

When they arrived back at the dell, it was to find the others grouped around a camp fire, dinner in progress. Draco was watching the cooking pot intently, stirring it. Ginny and Luna were both sitting nearby, watching him.

“Nearly ready!” Draco announced. “We're eating well tonight, boys and girls! Fresh rabbit stew!”

“Ginny caught a rabbit!” Luna announced. “And then Draco skinned and cooked it along with some herbs we found nearby and some things from the packs and water from the stream. Did you know Draco could cook?”

“Father and I used to do this sort of thing all the time,” said Draco, still intent on his cooking. “He wanted me to have some survival skills in case I ever ended up lost without my wand.”

Luna beamed at him proudly. “And I found a stream! There's a stream just through those trees!”

“Yes, Luna, well done,” said Ginny wearily, clearly having heard this repeatedly all afternoon. “Aragorn, I don't want to worry you, but someone's been here recently. There were footprints near the stream, lots of them, and behind that rock over there, there was firewood. A whole stack of it, neatly trimmed and everything. And this fire – there were signs of one having been made recently. Someone was definitely here not long ago – and they might be planning to return.”

“Gandalf...” Harry whispered. As Aragorn went to see what the tracks could tell him, Harry and Hermione filled the others in on what they'd found on the hilltop. The news that there were five Nazgul on the Road not half an hour's ride from them did not go down well.

“Here?” Ginny whispered, horrified. “Oh god. Suppose they find us? Didn't Aragorn say that they'd come here if they didn't find us on the Road?”

“Yeah, but they don't know about this place yet, do they?” Draco asked hopefully. “Do they??”

“We don't know,” said Harry sombrely. “Someone was camped here not long ago, and it's not that hard to find. We don't know they've not been here before.”

“But they don't know we're here at the moment, do they?” said Draco thoughtfully.

“We don't think so,” said Hermione. “It's possible they saw us on the hill, but even so, the stones should have hidden us. Aragorn said we might be alright as long as we don't use any magic.” She stopped, realising that Draco, Ginny and Luna had all gone very quiet and Draco and Ginny in particular were looking rather guilty. “You... haven't used any magic, have you?”

The looks on Draco and Ginny's faces told their own story.

“Of course we used magic!” Draco cried, breaking the uneasy silence. “How do you think we caught the rabbit, with a home made slingshot? And the fire?? We're two purebloods, we're not going to sit here all afternoon striking two stones together, are we?”

Harry sank to his knees, horrorstruck. “They're going to find us,” he whispered. “They're going to know where we are, and come for us as soon as it gets dark! We're done for!”

Everyone else glanced at the sky. It was half past three in early October, and it surely couldn't be long until sunset - an hour or so at most. They did not have long.

Aragorn re-entered the clearing, frowning. “As I feared. Ginny, Draco and Luna have trampled the ground near the stream, and the tracks are confused. Nevertheless, Rangers have been here lately – it is they who left the firewood. And there have been others too – I saw at least one track of booted feet. Maybe more.”

“The Nazgul have boots,” Draco whispered, starting to panic as everyone's worst fears crystallised. Plans for escape started to circulate through his mind. _Option one: take Luna and run. Nice idea, but Aragorn's the only one who knows the countryside. We could just follow the Road, I suppose, but we'd have to leave the supplies and we'd never manage two weeks without them. Option two: slip out, and sell everyone else out to the Nazgul for my freedom. Maybe, but the Nazgul already know we're here and might not bother hearing me out. Not that I'd trust them to keep their word anyway. Also, Luna would never let me and I don't really want to leave her here. She's the only one here who's halfway interesting. Besides, if I betray them to the Nazgul, I'll never see the Ring again..._ He noticed the chain around Harry's neck, glinting in the firelight. That settled it. He'd stand and fight. Potter had a way of surviving these things after all.

“We have to get out of here,” said Ginny, also starting to panic as she began gathering things up and flinging them into packs. “If we leave now, we can get a good head start, right?” She stopped, noticing Aragorn shaking his head. “Right?”

“I don't know, Ginevra,” said Aragorn, sizing up what remained of the light. “I do not like this place either, but I can think of nowhere better we might reach by nightfall. The terrain north of these hills is even less good for hiding than it is here, and if we go back, it will not throw them off for long – at some point we will have to return. The only other option is the thickets south of the Road, but the Road is surely being watched. Here at least we are sheltered and out of sight – if we move, we are far more likely to be seen. Alas, I was too careless on the hilltop. We should not have stayed so long, or I should have gone alone.”

“We're doomed,” Harry whispered again, clutching the Ring.

“Do not lose hope, young Harry,” said Aragorn, laying a hand on his shoulder. “There are six of us, after all, and you five have your magic. I do not know what spells you have, but I am sure you are hardly defenceless. And we have fire too. The Nine do not love fire and fear those who wield it. If they come tonight, they will not find us easy prey!”

They settled down in the most sheltered part of the dell to have dinner. As they ate, Aragorn told them more of Middle Earth and its history, as he'd been wont to do since they'd started travelling. By the time they reached Rivendell, they'd likely be as well-versed in the land's past as most children of Men, or so Aragorn liked to boast. However, Aragorn's tales were interesting enough to have them all hooked.

Finally, dinner was finished, and Ginny slipped off to attend to a call of nature. It was not long however before she dashed back into the clearing, wand out and clearly terrified.

“They're here,” she whispered. “I'm sure of it. Outside the dell, I could _sense_ this _thing. _Just this mass of fear and darkness. I thought I saw something too – some black shapes moving this way.”

Aragorn was on his feet in an instant.

“Backs to the fire, now! Have your wands ready, and some of the longer sticks!” he cried. Everyone else was quick to obey – Aragorn had quite the commanding voice when he wanted to use it. For what seemed like hours, but was in reality only a few terrified, breathless minutes, they sat there, watching the shadows, each waiting for the moment when perhaps one of them might prove to be more than just shadow. The night had gone silent as the tomb, and outside their small circle was nothing but blackness, an indistinct mass of darkness that could hold not just shadows, but Shadows.

Then, just as Harry could take no more and was on the brink of casting a Flare Charm just to bring some light and sound back, they felt it. First one, then two, then three, maybe four of them. Dark shapes rising from the gloom, standing on the slope above them, watching them, before fanning out in a row and advancing towards them. Draco's description had not been far wrong – they were like Dementors... only far more frightening. Luna whimpered, scurrying behind Draco, who had gone very pale and was shaking all over. Ginny had dropped to her knees, barely able to look at them, while Hermione had drawn close to Harry. Even Aragorn seemed frozen.

Harry himself, despite all he'd faced in the past, was hardly less terrified, but he had something else to worry about. The leading Nazgul was staring right at him, and all of a sudden, Harry could almost hear the Ring calling to him, whispering to put it on, use its power, with the One Ring at his disposal the Nazgul would be his to command. He felt it grow until he could hear nothing else, think of nothing else except the compulsion to take the Ring from his shirt and slide it on. He shut his eyes, trying to resist, trying to fight it, trying to summon the strength he used to resist the Imperius Curse, but it was no use. This was stronger even than that deadly curse. He was vaguely aware of Hermione shaking him, mouthing his name, but he couldn't hear a sound. There was just him and the Ring. The Ring that his hands, entirely of their own volition, had taken out of his shirt and were about to slide onto his finger...

Until Draco, screaming, “Nooo!!!” cannoned into him, knocking him to the floor, trying furiously to grab the Ring from him. As Draco's hand closed around his, Harry felt the compulsion vanish, to be replaced by a possessive rage that someone would even dare try and take the Ring, his precious Ring, from him.

“Malfoy, you bastard, get off me!” Harry yelled at him.

“Malfoy, let go of him!” Hermione cried, trying to drag Draco off him. Draco roughly shoved her away, eyes never leaving Harry's. The Slytherin's face was twisted in a hateful glare, steeped in malice.

“Give it to me!” Draco hissed. “Give me the Ring!”

“Never!” Harry cried. “It's mine, I tell you, mine!”

“Yours?” Draco snarled. “You would give it to the Nazgul!” He grabbed Harry by the wrist, twisting his arm painfully. “It's mine, I tell you, it should be mine!” He gave Harry's arm a yank, causing Harry to cry out and let go of the Ring. Draco snatched it up at once, holding it aloft with a cry of triumph as he slipped it onto his finger... only for triumph to change into an agonised scream as one of the Nazgul crept up behind him and knifed him in the shoulder. The Ring slipped from Draco's finger as it did so, falling into Harry's outstretched hand. Harry hastily pocketed it and, shoving Draco's now unconscious form off him, produced his wand. As the Nazgul reached out for him, silently demanding the Ring, Harry brandished the wand and cast a spell that had worked on similar beings before.

“_Expecto Patronum!_” The silver stag that was his Patronus leapt from his wand, right into the Nazgul's face. Screaming as the stag assaulted it, the Nazgul staggered back, apparently blinded, if such a word could be applied to the eyeless wraiths. Seeing their leader incapacitated halted the others in their tracks, unsure what to do in the face of such magic. They had not expected much resistance. Seizing the opportunity, Aragorn snatched a burning brand in each hand, leaping into the fray, and this seemed to spur the others into action. Ginny followed, flinging hexes at the Nazgul, while Hermione was briskly casting Fire Charms, succeeding in setting fire to the robes of one of the wraiths. Under this onslaught, the Nazgul swallowed their pride and disappeared, beaten... for now. However, the damage had already been done. Kneeling by the fire, Luna was staring helplessly at the cold and unmoving form of Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if Hogwarts actually has Parents' Evenings - the evidence suggests not, but most other schools do. I find it hard to believe that wizarding parents don't have the opportunity to meet the teachers, so I left that line in.
> 
> Draco will be alright, by the way... eventually.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the aftermath of the attack isn't easy, but it does have the effect of bringing the five children together. Meanwhile, back in England, Voldemort is taking an interest in the situation and dispatches Bellatrix and Severus to fetch the Red Book for him. But an unpleasant shock is awaiting them...

“Is he going to be alright?” Harry asked, staring at the fallen form of his one time nemesis. Draco, while still alive, was very pale and his skin felt cold to the touch.

 

“I don't know,” said Hermione, tucking the last of the blankets around the unconscious boy. “But Aragorn said to keep him warm and boil water for him. He wouldn't have said that if there was no hope, would he?”

 

Harry said nothing. He knew better than anyone that a leader had to stay positive, could never be seen to give up hope, lest his followers pick up on it and lose faith. It was strange – at the start of the journey, he'd been praying for something to happen to Draco, to not have to put up with the blond's snarkiness and general unpleasantness any more. Now it had happened though, Harry didn't feel jubilant at all. Harry felt sick. And he wasn't the only one.

 

Luna hadn't said a word since it happened. She was still kneeling next to Draco, clutching his hand and stroking his hair, looking almost as pale as he did, except without the sickly pallor.

 

“Are you alright, Luna?” he asked her. She shook her head, tears in her eyes as she traced Draco's shoulder.

 

“This wasn't meant to happen,” Luna whispered. “It wasn't meant to be like this!”

 

“Luna, don't, it's not your fault,” Harry began, but Luna wasn't listening.

 

“We were trying to keep him safe!” she cried. “That's the whole reason Calenlass wanted to send him here, so he wouldn't get killed working for Voldemort! And now this happens...” She covered her mouth with one hand, crying. “He's going to die!”

 

“He's not going to die,” said Harry. Quite how he was going to guarantee this, he had no idea, but something in Luna's eyes had fired up reserves of strength he hadn't known he'd had. “We won't let him die, Luna. I promise.”

 

Luna did smile a little at that. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered. “It won't help save him, but thank you any way. It's a nice thought.”

 

Ginny reappeared, a bunch of herbs clutched in her hand. “Here, Hermione, I found the herbs you asked for. Oh, and I found some of this as well. I don't know what it is, but it smelt really nice and it might be useful.”

 

Hermione examined the plant Ginny had pointed out, gasping as she realised what it was.

 

“Ginny, this is kingsweed!” she gasped. “It's really rare, practically extinct! Wherever did you find this?”

 

“There was a clump of it growing across the Road,” said Ginny smugly. “Practically fell over it.” She looked curiously at it. “Is it useful then?”

 

Hermione nodded, still stunned that she was actually holding kingsweed in her hand. “It's one of the most potent healing herbs ever.” She looked up, brisk once more. “Right, give me those herbs. I have a potion to brew.”

 

She set to work, brewing up a healing potion. The smell alone seemed to drive away the darkness, and all four of them felt the tension and fear of before start to fade away. Even Draco stirred, looking a little less gaunt. Finally, it was ready, and Hermione dropped a little of it into Draco's mouth. The boy swallowed reflexively, before starting to cough. Eyes fluttering open, he pressed his good hand to his chest, trying to stem the coughing. Hermione and Luna were immediately at his side, helping him to sit up.

 

“Easy now, Malfoy,” said Hermione softly. “You're still very weak. Here, drink the rest of this, but slowly, mind. Don't overdo it.” She offered the rest of the cup to him. Draco took it off her, and sipped it, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

 

“What happened?” he whispered, sounding hoarse and ragged and not at all like the Draco they thought they knew. “There was darkness... and wraiths... a pale king?”

 

“They've gone now,” said Harry. “We chased them off. I don't think they'll come back any time soon.”

 

“How's your shoulder?” said Hermione.

 

“Sore,” Draco whispered. “And cold. I think... did someone hex me or something?”

 

“No, you got stabbed,” said Ginny. “One of the Ringwraiths got you with his sword.”

 

“Feels more like a curse,” Draco said. His eyes were staring into the distance, unfocused. “Cold, so cold, all down my left side. And... I can't move my arm...”

 

Hermione reached for his hand, and let it go. Sure enough, his left hand just flopped lifelessly, and it felt stone cold. Hermione bit her lip, exchanging an anxious look with Harry.

 

“This isn't good, is it?” said Draco, half-smiling.

 

“It might not be permanent,” said Hermione hopefully.

 

“But it might be,” said Draco. Closing his eyes, he lay down again. “It's alright, Granger. You don't have to spare my feelings.”

 

Hermione, for the briefest of moments, looked despairing, before fixing her mouth into a very firm line.

 

“Luna,” she said in a voice that Harry knew from long experience meant that Hermione had her mind set on something, “get his robes open. I need to bathe his wound in this stuff. It'll help the healing process. Harry, Ginny, start bottling that potion – we'll need to take it with us or Draco's not going to make it to Rivendell. Luna...” She paused, watching Luna roll Draco over and tenderly expose the wound to the air, all the while whispering words of comfort to the stricken boy. “Just keep doing what you are doing,” Hermione said, her voice surprisingly gentle.

 

When Aragorn came back, it was to find Luna bathing Draco's wound, several bottles of potion lined up next to him, and the others looking on, appearing uncharacteristically concerned.

 

“Well, and how is the patient?” he asked, trying to see if the boy was awake yet. A slight movement of Draco's head indicated that the boy was awake, but was wishing he wasn't.

 

“Conscious,” Hermione replied. “But other than that, not good. He can't move his arm, Aragorn!” She was unable to stop a note of panic from entering her voice.

 

“I was afraid of that,”Aragorn sighed. He reached into his pocket and produced some herbs. “Here, I brought these. It is athelas, a powerful healing agent. I am no healer, but if you boil these in water, you'll find it has a restorative effect.”

 

Hermione took them from him with a smile. “Oh, more kingsweed! Ginny already found some. But more will be useful.”

 

“Did you now?” Aragorn asked. He nodded at the potion bottles. “Is that what's in the bottles?”

 

“Among other things,” Hermione nodded. “I sent Ginny out with a list of things to find. I've brewed up some healing potion for him. It's not perfect, but it's the best I can manage.”

 

“Don't pay any attention to her,” Harry interrupted. “It's probably worthy of a fully trained healer. She's always running her achievements down.”

 

“Yeah, she's the smartest witch any of us know,” Ginny added.

 

“I don't doubt it,” said Aragorn, examining one of the potions. He turned to Draco. “So, young Draco, how are you feeling now? You do look much improved from when last I saw you.”

 

“Yes, that's because I looked near dead,” Draco muttered. “Now I only look half dead.”

 

Aragorn laughed. “Well, if your wit is recovered, the rest of you can be in no immediate danger. It seems Hermione's herbcraft agrees with you.”

 

“Great,” Draco muttered. “In debt to a Mu- Muggle-born,” he hastily stopped himself from using the word he'd employed since childhood. “How will I live this down?”

 

“Draco, stop fussing,” Luna scolded, pressing the compress to his wound. “You'll make it bleed again.”

 

Draco growled but did as she asked, choosing to remain still.

 

“So what did you find out?” Harry asked Aragorn, leaving Hermione and Luna to watch over Draco. Next to him, Ginny settled down, also interested in hearing what Aragorn had to say. “Are the Nazgul still nearby?”

 

“They have drawn off for now,” Aragorn replied sombrely. “For some reason, there were only five, not the full Nine. I'm not certain if they knew we had the Ring, although they surely do now. And I don't think they expected such fierce resistance either. But I do not think they have gone far. They are biding their time, waiting.”

 

“Waiting for what?” Ginny asked.

 

Aragorn nodded in Draco's direction. “They have wounded him, perhaps fatally if he does not get help soon. If it is allowed to progress, he will surely die. And that is when the trouble will really begin.”

 

“What trouble?” Harry asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer to this.

 

“If he succumbs to that wound, he will not just die. He will become like the Nazgul, except under their control.” Aragorn's grey-blue eyes were heavy with fear. “It will be as if we invited one into our camp and handed the Ring over ourselves.”

 

“Then we have to kill him first,” said Ginny. She noticed the two males looking at her, Harry worried, Aragorn merely appraising her. “Better to die quickly, right? And not be a wraith.”

 

“I see,” said Aragorn. “And who do you suggest strike the killing blow? For I do not make a habit out of striking down defenceless invalids, I assure you.”

 

Ginny turned to Harry, who shook his head.

 

“No Ginny, I won't do it. Not when he can't fight back. It's not fair. And I'll tell you now, nor will Hermione. And Luna never will.”

 

“Well then Ginevra, it seems you will have to do it, if it is to be done,” said Aragorn, folding his arms. He watched Ginny, who had gone awfully pale.

 

“I, well, maybe we could just leave him here then?” Ginny stammered.

 

“For the Nazgul to find and interrogate?” Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “That would be a crueller fate than killing him outright.”

 

Ginny hung her head. “Yeah. You're right.” She sighed. “So what do we do?”

 

“Try and keep him alive,” said Aragorn. “And press on with all haste to Rivendell. We certainly cannot stay here – this place is being watched, and has been for some days, I think. We will not find greater danger now no matter where we go.”

 

* * *

 

“Well now,” Lord Voldemort murmured, one hand idly petting Nagini as he surveyed the Death Eater in front of him. “This is most interesting, Severus. Bella had already informed me that Draco had disappeared, but she neglected to mention that the Boy Who Refuses To Die had also vanished from this plane.” He shot a glance at Bellatrix, who bridled at the censure in those eyes.

 

“My Lord, I was not there myself, I have only Narcissa's information!” she cried. “Do not blame me for that!”

 

“Quiet, Bella,” Voldemort growled. Bellatrix subsided, but she continued to glare at Snape. Voldemort turned back to his spy. “So the Potter brat is gone. That must have pleased you.”

 

“Immensely, my Lord,” Severus replied, for once not needing Occlumency to shield his feelings. Getting rid of Harry Potter had not been his main reason for aiding Calenlass, but it had certainly been an unlooked-for bonus. “Teaching has never been so enjoyable without him to disrupt the lessons.”

 

“Indeed,” Voldemort murmured. “And who else disappeared? Potter, Draco, and you said there were others?”

 

“Potter's Mudblood friend, Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley, and Luna Lovegood.”

 

Bellatrix looked up sharply at that name. Severus did wonder at that – he hadn't known Luna Lovegood had even been known to her. Apparently so.

 

“Luna Lovegood?” said Bellatrix, sounding, if Severus hadn't known better, almost concerned. “What, Elizabeth Marsh's daughter?”

 

“I believe her mother was called Elizabeth, yes,” said Severus, making a mental note to investigate Luna's ancestry as soon as he got back to Hogwarts. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Oh,” said Bellatrix dismissively. “It doesn't matter. It's just Elizabeth Marsh was a cousin of mine – her mother was my aunt, Elladora Black.”

 

Well. That would explain a lot. Elladora Black's “eccentricities”, which in anyone who wasn't a wealthy pureblood scion would have earned a one-way trip to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward, were legendary. If Luna Lovegood was her granddaughter, Luna's frankly bizarre mental state was instantly explicable.

 

“Experiencing some family feeling, Bella?” Voldemort chuckled. Bellatrix glared.

 

“Hardly,” she sniffed. “Cousin Beth stopped being any kin of mine when she married that awful Mudblood muckraker.” Bellatrix giggled at that, disturbingly reminiscent of Luna if she had but known it. “Ooh, that goes together rather nicely. Mudblood muckraker. I like that!”

 

“Quite,” Voldemort said, turning away from her, his eyes betraying his irritation. Severus had the feeling that anyone other than Bellatrix would even now be writhing under the Cruciatus curse. “So the five students have disappeared. Does anyone know how? And more importantly, where they might have gone?”

 

“The exact cause is not known,” said Severus, fixing his eyes on Voldemort's forehead as he summoned his Occlumency skills to cover the lie. “However, it is believed they were in the Restricted Section out of hours. Draco had gone there to carry out some research for the cause, that I do know. The others were probably doing likewise for their cause, but unlike Draco, they had not cared to let any of the staff know of their little excursion. It is uncertain exactly what happened, but according to eyewitness accounts from Pansy Parkinson and Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter and his friends were investigating a certain book when it, er, came to life.”

 

“Came to life?” Voldemort said, incredulous. “Severus, books do not simply come to life. Which book was it?”

 

Severus took a deep breath. There was no help but to tell him – Albus had told him to be as truthful as possible and besides, it was likely to get out at some point. “The Red Book of Arda, my lord. The new Defence professor had brought a copy with him and lodged it in the library, then been foolish enough to tell the sixth years it was there and that it could help them achieve their destiny.”

 

On the other side of the room, Bellatrix clutched her chest, her knees buckling as she struggled to keep upright.

 

“Bella?” Voldemort asked, surprised at her reaction. Despite Azkaban, Bellatrix was still in very good health. “Are you well?”

 

“The Red Book of Arda??” Bellatrix gasped. “But that's extremely rare – there's only a few copies in existence! How did someone who isn't even a pureblood lay his hands on a copy, I'd like to know!”

 

“He has contacts,” Severus replied. “Calenlass may not have your exalted ancestry,” again Severus hid the lie well. Calenlass might not belong to any known pureblood wizarding families, but he was hardly a lowly Muggle-born either. Still, it suited the elf to pretend otherwise. “But he is more than capable of acquiring rare and valuable tomes, I assure you. The copy in the Black library is not the only one in existence, Bellatrix.”

 

“How do you know about that??” Bellatrix hissed at him. “That's meant to be a family secret!”

 

“I do read, you know, Bellatrix. There was very little else to do in that pile you call a family home, after all. I made use of the Grimmauld Place library many times last year, and during my studies, I happened to stumble on the Red Book. It was most entertaining, although hardly magically valuable.”

 

“You _touched _the Red Book?” Bellatrix screeched, on the verge of apoplexy. “You, a mere halfblood, _read_ the Black family copy of the Red Book of Arda?”

 

“Bella, that's enough!” Voldemort's voice cut her short. “We do not insult the ancestry of our fellow Death Eaters.” Red eyes flicked back to Severus, who hastily wiped the smug grin off his face. “So, Severus, the Red Book of Arda came to life. Then what?”

 

“It abducted them. Miss Parkinson alleges that Miss Lovegood activated the book by stabbing Draco with a quill and spilling his blood on it. Then the book took the five missing students prisoner and they disappeared. It is also alleged that Luna Lovegood participated willingly in this, reciting a rhyme as it all happened. Something about one book to rule them all.”

 

“One Ring to rule them all,” Bellatrix muttered darkly. Severus shook his head.

 

“It appears Luna had altered the words, then,” Severus replied, amused. “Whatever, she has clearly read the Red Book too.”

 

“She would,” Bellatrix snapped. “Her mother practically had it memorised. I wouldn't put it past her to make her own copy.”

 

“If you will forgive me for interrupting,” Voldemort's voice, while superficially courteous, was clearly a command rather than a request. “Would one of you care to enlighten me as to the contents of the Red Book?”

 

“It's the story of our founders, how the Black family came to be!” Bellatrix said, standing proud. Severus could only roll his eyes.

 

“It's an adventure story allegedly set in our distant past, detailing the struggle of two small creatures known as... hobbits?... to dispose of a magical relic belonging to a fallen angel Dark Lord, destroying him in the process. There's also a war, a power struggle among Men and the crowning of a new king going on as well. Gripping stuff, but hardly worthy of serious magical attention, my lord.”

 

Bellatrix barely managed to stop herself from screaming. Voldemort raised what passed for an eyebrow at him.

 

“And yet a copy has whisked five children away to who knows where, and we don't know if they will ever return.”

 

“My lord, I'm sure that most copies of the Red Book don't do this. Potter surely interfered with it...” Severus began. Voldemort cut him off.

 

“Bella, to the best of your knowledge, has anyone ever shed their blood on the Red Book?”

 

“No, never, we would never permit our copy to be so defiled!”

 

Voldemort turned back to Severus. “And the Black copy of the Red Book, it is still in the library there?”

 

“As far as I know,” said Severus warily. “No one's been there since Black died.”

 

“Excellent,” Voldemort purred, looking disturbingly pleased with himself. Severus glanced nervously at Bellatrix. Even she was looking worried. This was not a good sign. They were not wrong.

 

“Severus, you will take Bella and get her into 12 Grimmauld Place.” He ignored Severus's groan and Bellatrix's cry of “Him?”

 

“Then you will both retrieve the Black copy of the Red Book and bring it to me.” Red eyes stared at them, daring them to argue. “If you can avoid killing each other, so much the better. I would rather you two did not disappear as well.”

 

“No, my lord,” said Bellatrix, sounding submissive... but one glance at Severus hinted that she'd have no problems whatsoever with him disappearing. Making a mental note not to let her near any sharp objects, Severus had no choice but to agree.

 

* * *

 

In the end, getting access to 12 Grimmauld Place proved to not be nearly as tricky as Severus had anticipated. With Sirius dead, Lupin off spying amongst the werewolves, and Potter who knew where, no one was actually living there these days. All Snape had to do was show Bellatrix his own parchment revealing its location, and once Bellatrix could see the building again, a single snap of her fingers opened the doors for them.

 

“Home,” she breathed as she stepped inside the front door. “Oh, it's been so long!”

 

“Home?” Severus muttered. “You never lived here.”

 

“Bite your tongue, Snape,” Bellatrix snapped. “This house would have been mine if my fool cousin hadn't left it to the Potter brat! It should be mine!” Her voice carried down the hallways, and it didn't take long before what occupants it did have were awake.

 

“Who dares?” Mrs. Black's portrait screamed. “Who dares enter the home of the Blacks?”

 

“Now look what you've done,” Severus hissed, closing the front door. “Does the word discretion mean anything to you, Bellatrix?”

 

Bellatrix ignored him, turning to the portrait as she turned the hallway lights on. “Aunt Walburga!” she cried, running over to where Mrs. Black was rubbing her eyes in the gaslight.

 

“Bella?” Mrs. Black gasped, before, to Severus's shock, actually smiling. It wasn't a sight he ever wanted to look at again in a hurry. “Little Bellatrix? Is it really you?”

 

“Yes, Auntie, it's really me!” Bellatrix cried. “Oh, it's so good to see you again!”

 

Mrs. Black's face had crumpled, and she was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Dearest little Bellatrix,” she sighed happily. “I never thought I'd see you again! Oh my darling, when I heard you'd been sent to Azkaban too, it broke my heart. It broke my heart!” She threatened to break down in tears.

 

“Oh, Auntie, don't cry,” Bellatrix whispered, stroking the canvas. “I'm free now. The Dark Lord came and got me. And we're going to restore the family name and get rid of all the Mudblood filth, just you wait.”

 

“And will you and Rodolphus come and live here?” Mrs. Black asked hopefully.

 

“Yes,” Bellatrix breathed. “Oh yes. As soon as we get rid of the Potter boy. But Auntie, there's something we need to do first. Aunt Walburga, is the Red Book still here?”

 

Mrs. Black confirmed it was so. “Why do you ask, Bella?”

 

“I need to take it away, Auntie,” said Bellatrix, her voice becoming sombre. “It... it isn't safe here any more, not now the Order are using this house. I need to take it away, put it somewhere safe, where the Mudbloods and Muggle lovers and the filthy halfbreeds can't get their paws on it any more. Will you let me do that, Auntie? Will you let me take the Red Book? Please?”

 

Mrs. Black hesitated. “Bella, it's the sacred relic of our family. It belongs here, in our family home. Bella, please, isn't there another way?”

 

Bellatrix shook her head. “The Order know about it now,” she whispered. “It's only a matter of time before they come after our copy! Do you want them to take it?”

 

Mrs. Black closed her eyes, screwing her face up in pain. “No, not that. Never that!” she cried, wringing her hands. “Alright, alright, if there is no alternative. Take the book. I trust you, Bella. I trust you to let no harm come to it.”

 

“I will protect it with my life,” Bellatrix promised. “Thank you, Auntie!” Ignoring Severus's snort of disgust, she placed a kiss to the canvas before turning and beckoning him forwards. “Come on, Severus! It's this way!”

 

Severus followed, struggling to keep up with Bellatrix. Despite having made many trips to the house over the last year, he was no match for Bellatrix when it came to navigating through 12 Grimmauld Place in the dark, and when he finally staggered into the library, she had already retrieved the book they'd come for. She was sitting at a desk, stroking the cover as she gazed adoringly at it.

 

“I never thought I would see this again,” she whispered.

 

“Yes, well, now you have,” said Severus irritably. “Now can we get a move on? I'm not expecting anybody to come by, but if they do and they find you here, we will all be in a good deal of trouble, so let's just go, shall we?”

 

“I just want to look inside again,” Bellatrix breathed. “It won't take long.” She laid the book on the desk, ignoring Severus entirely, and opened the book. Severus could only groan, cursing the woman's impatience and wondering why on earth she couldn't read it once they were back at Narcissa's and safe. However, irritation turned to alarm when Bellatrix leapt backwards, screaming.

 

“Bellatrix?” Severus was by her side, wand out, in seconds. He might not like her, they might be rivals in the Dark Lord's court, but Severus had no real desire to see her harmed. “Is everything alright?”

 

Bellatrix shook her head, terror etched on her face. “The Book! It's... it's empty!” She thrust the book at him, flicking through pages that all seemed to be, without exception, devoid of text. Severus took it from her, frowning. This was not good. Not for the Book... and not for them, not if they returned to the Dark Lord with an empty book.

 

“This cannot be, this _cannot be!!_” Bellatrix screamed. “This cannot be happening to our sacred book!” She sank back into the chair and began to sob. Severus, hoping beyond hope that this was not true, that this was some mistake, began to flick through the pages. On impulse, he turned to the front pages... which were intact.

 

“Bellatrix,” he said softly. “Bellatrix, look at this.”

 

She looked up and took the book from him, laying it on the desk and sighing with relief as she recognised the intact text at the front. “Thank the Valar,” she whispered, turning the pages one by one as she skimmed through the story. “Yes, yes, this is how I remember it.” She kept turning the pages until one of them brought her up short. “Wait, this is different. The children... they're mentioned. Draco, and Potter, and Luna, and the Weasley brat and that Mudblood. It says that the Periannath were taken by magic, leaving the One Ring behind, and five children came in their stead, sent by the Valar, and akin to the Istari, except they wore the likenesses of children, not old men. And the Ring passed to the one marked by the gods, the one they called Harry son of James.” She sat up, staring into the distance. “Elbereth save us. Potter has the One Ring.”

 

“It would be him,” Severus sighed. “The brat is a magnet for trouble. Well, he is just Gryffindor enough not to use it, for which we should be thankful.”

 

“Thankful?” asked Bellatrix sharply.

 

“Indeed. Potter, like it or not, has a great deal of power. Can you imagine what might happen if the One Ring bent that to its evil designs? We would truly have a Dark Lord to fear then. Even our Master could not stand against the power of the Ring.”

 

Bellatrix said nothing. Loyalty to Voldemort protested that surely her Master had strength enough to fight a brat like Potter, but her knowledge of Ring lore said otherwise. Nothing could stand against the One Ring's power. Still, pride prevented her from admitting that. Moving on to see what happened next, she could only shake her head as the next revelation unfolded. “Well, they've done something right at least – they've found Strider the Ranger, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He who will be King Elessar Telcontar, the ancestor of the House of Black.” Bellatrix actually smiled faintly at this. “Well, Draco. It seems you're not completely useless after all. Who would have thought it?”

 

“This Aragorn is powerful then?” said Severus. He'd not realised that the Muggle King was the revered ancestor of the Blacks. How ironic, that the most isolationist of the old wizarding families claimed a Muggle Ranger as ancestor.

 

“Oh yes,” Bellatrix nodded. “Although I do not think he really realises it yet at this point in the story. Nevertheless, they would not have survived long without him. He's to take them to the Elves at Rivendell. We shall see what transpires then – at that point, the Periannath would have undertaken to take the Ring to Mordor to destroy it. It remains to be seen as to whether the children will do the same.”

 

“Potter will,” Severus sighed. “We may count on it.”

 

“If he makes it that far,” Bellatrix purred. She turned a few more pages before gasping. “Draco, no! You fool!”

 

“Draco?” Severus came to stand behind her, reading over her shoulder. “Is he alright?”

 

Bellatrix shook her head, her skin pale in the wandlight. “No,” she whispered. “No, he... that wasn't meant to happen!”

 

Severus began reading for himself, and felt his heart skip a beat as he read of how Harry son of James had fallen under the Nazgul spell and taken the Ring out to put it on, and how Draco son of Lucius had knocked it from his hand trying to prevent him from betraying them all, and taken a knife wound from the Nazgul that had been meant for the Ringbearer. While Severus very much doubted that Draco's actions had been anything like as altruistic as the Red Book made out, there was no doubting that the narrative had taken a sinister turn. He remembered the stabbing in the original story, and how it had nearly killed the halfling that had been on the receiving end. Draco Malfoy, wizard though he was, did not have a halfling's fortitude, and both he and Bellatrix knew it.

 

“Should we tell Narcissa of this?” he asked softly. Bellatrix shook her head.

 

“No. Say nothing to her as yet. Not until... not until we know one way or the other what happens to him. She will only worry. I would rather have her mourning a certain death than going mad over possibilities.” She flipped to the next page. “Well and good, they are treating him with athelas, and the Mudblood is making healing potions for him. Is she any good with potions?”

 

“She's excellent with them.”

 

“Then he may yet survive.” Bellatrix closed the book. “It ends there. Clearly it is rewriting itself as events play out there.” She looked up at Severus, her face having gone very calculating. “The Dark Lord will be most intrigued to learn of this. I daresay he will want to keep informed of what is going on in Arda.”

 

_As will Albus,_ Severus thought, his mind already thinking of the Hogwarts copy. Following Bellatrix as she made her way out of the library with the book tucked underneath her arm, Severus began to wonder what the children had set in motion, and how different everything was going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering how Severus managed to read the Red Book when the children couldn't... the Blacks' Red Book is a translated copy of a copy of an original that no longer exists, and is in English. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journeying on in the aftermath of the attack on Weathertop is difficult - and it doesn't get easier when they discover why Draco's not succumbed to the Morgul-blade yet. Fortunately, help is at hand after an unexpected but not unwelcome chance meeting with allies, one of whom is of far greater significance to Draco at least than anyone had realised. But with the Nine lying in wait at the Fords of Bruinen, will it be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter for you to make up for the long wait between updates! Mostly set in Arda, but there's a little bit of the Potterverse at the end. Warning - it's a bit dark, but you were expecting that given how the last one ended, weren't you?

At first light, the travellers set off. Draco had been wrapped in blankets over his cloak and bundled on top of Neville the pony, as he was clearly in no fit state to walk.

 

“When he fantasised about riding Neville, I bet that's not what he had in mind,” Ginny quipped in a voice so low only Harry could hear her. Harry's cheeks turned pink as he realised what she meant by that.

 

“What the – Ginny!” he gasped. “That's...!” Ginny raised an eyebrow.

 

“What? I've got six older brothers. They're allowed to make filthy jokes and cast aspersions on their rivals' sexuality and I'm not?” The innocent look on her face did not match her tone of voice.

 

“I – I'm fairly certain Malfoy's not gay!” said Harry, taking refuge in something else he was reasonably sure of in order to distract himself from the realisation that his best mate's younger sister could know quite so much about that sort of thing. Although now that he thought about it, Malfoy was awfully appearance obsessed and not a little prone to the dramatic... No. No, he was not going there. As Hermione would no doubt say, those were unfair stereotypes of gay men and completely unrepresentative of the gay community as a whole. Yes, that would be it, Hermione would surely agree with that and when was Hermione wrong on that sort of thing?

 

“You're right,” said Ginny, and the certainty in her voice was somehow not as big a relief for Harry as he'd hoped it would be. “I don't think he is either. However, he's Slytherin. They're all a bit deviant in one way or another.” Flashing Harry a grin over her shoulder, she gathered her robes and quickened her pace. “Come on, let's catch up with Aragorn and Hermione, find out where we're going next.”

 

Aragorn and Hermione were leading the party, just ahead of where Luna was leading the pony with a half-conscious Draco slumped over it. Earlier that morning, they'd crossed the Road in a hurry while the Sun was barely over the horizon and cut into the thickets beyond. Now they were tracking through a featureless gorseland, consisting of nearly impassable clumps of trees and bushes, and open wasteland which would leave them horribly vulnerable to attack from any of the Nine, were they to find them. However, the ground was stony underfoot, and Aragorn at least was taking comfort from the fact that it would be hard going indeed for anyone on horseback.

 

“Bringing a pony this way is one thing; bringing a horse such as that which the Nine ride is another matter indeed,” he told Hermione. “Be not afraid, they shall not follow us this way.”

 

“But they'll follow the Road, won't they,” said Hermione. “All they'd have to do would be to patrol it and ambush us when we take to it again, and we'll have to do that at some point, won't we?

 

“We will,” Aragorn confirmed with a frown.

 

“Will what?” Ginny asked, catching up with a grin on her face and a flushed Harry not far behind.

 

“Have to rejoin the Road,” said Hermione. Ginny's face fell.

 

“But... Riders!” she cried. “They'll be all over the Road!”

 

“I am afraid so,” Aragorn nodded. “But take heart, they do not know exactly where we are or when we are likely to return to it, not exactly. At present, we travel east while the Road winds to the north-east. That should save us some time, as the Road won't rejoin our path until we reach the Hoarwell River, called Mitheithel by the Elves. There, however, we may run into difficulties.”

 

“And by difficulties, he means Nazgul,” Draco called from his perch on top of the pony. While his physical strength seemed to have deserted him, he was still in possession of sarcasm aplenty.

 

“Quite, son of Lucius,” said Aragorn, either missing the sarcasm entirely, or more likely, choosing to ignore it. “The only path over that river is by the Last Bridge – it is not fordable, and the only way around it would be to journey many miles north to its sources in the Ettenmoors. That is troll country, and I do not know its paths – we would be many miles out of our way and lose much time.” He cast a glance at Draco here, and the same thought occurred to all of them – it would be time Draco just didn't have.

 

Things did not get any cheerier from there – the countryside offered little in the way of comfort, and there seemed little point in discussing anything more. Even Ginny fell quiet and pre-occupied, and Draco, while still capable of snapping out a retort when provoked, was clearly not getting any better despite repeated infusions of healing potions from Hermione. His left shoulder was either agonisingly painful or completely numb, and he was refusing to let anyone touch his arm at all.

 

“No, it hurts!” he hissed, wrenching himself away from Luna when she and Hermione tried to examine it. They were six days out of Weathertop, and were making camp for the night.

 

“Yes, and it will keep hurting if you don't let us treat it,” said Hermione impatiently. “Now stop being such a wimp and let Luna look at it!”

 

“No!” Draco snarled, grabbing his left arm with his right and turning away from her. “Leave me alone!”

 

Hermione, having had to put up with nearly a week of this, finally gave in. “Alright, alright, I will leave it. But if you get any worse or we find any strong painkilling herbs, I am going to take a look at it if I have to get Harry and Aragorn to sit on you while I do it!”

 

It was a measure of how bad Draco's condition was that he made not even the feeblest of ripostes other than to glare at her as she went to check on the cauldron. Behind her, Luna settled next to her, troubled.

 

“Something is wrong,” she stated, fairly unnecessarily in Hermione's opinion.

 

“Everything is wrong,” Hermione scowled, poking that night's stew consisting of a few herbs, half an onion and the remains of an injured wood pigeon they'd found that morning and Aragorn had pronounced beyond healing before breaking its neck. “We are out of time with no way of getting home, Draco is fading by the day, we have the Nine trying to find us, and I need a wash and a decent night's sleep in a proper bed, dammit!” She pushed herself back, furious and fighting back tears.

 

“Well, yes,” said Luna. “But it's not just all that, it's Draco's arm. It shouldn't be like that, not that painful to touch. He's not faking it either, I can feel the heat rising from his upper arm.”

 

“Heat?” Hermione frowned. “But his shoulder is cold, and the rest of him clammy, why is his arm burning up?” Luna shook her head.

 

“I don't know. Aragorn said the blade would make its way to his heart and turn him into a wraith, but that isn't what's happening. I think... I think it's made its way into his arm somehow. I think his own magic's fighting it, keeping it from killing him.”

 

That did get Hermione's interest. She shot a glance at Draco over her shoulder. His left arm was still useless, but his shoulder was moving a little better than it had been, and the wound had already closed.

 

“Could be,” she murmured. “Could be.” It wasn't a bad explanation... but she hadn't realised Draco's magic was capable of standing up to that of the Nazgul. She still wasn't sure it was. She watched Draco with a frown. This was a situation that required careful monitoring and observation before she could draw any definite conclusions. Fortunately, it wasn't like she really had anything better to do for the foreseeable future.

 

***********

 

On the morning of the seventh day out of Weathertop, they finally rejoined the Road. Aragorn made them wait in the undergrowth while he scouted the area. After about ten minutes, he turned to them, beckoning them forward.

 

“Have no fear, none have ridden this way of late. See, there are no hoofprints, not since the last rain.”

 

The last rain, as they all remembered, had been two nights ago, and a more miserable night none of them had had in a while.

 

“So it's safe then?” Harry asked. Aragorn laughed.

 

“As to that, I can make no guarantees there. Yet I think there is no immediate danger to us here. Come, let us make haste, the Last Bridge is not far and I would like to be clear of it as soon as can be.”

 

They did as asked, and hurried east as fast as they could. Before long, they'd reached the Last Bridge, a three-arched stone bridge wide enough for two Land Rovers to pass each other and with room to spare. It was clearly well-made and rather out of place for such an uninhabited landscape.

 

“Who built this, Aragorn?” Hermione whispered. “Was it the Elves?”

 

Aragorn shook his head. “No. It was built by Men in the time of the North Kingdom, when this was a civilised land and this Road a major highway. Alas, for war brought that kingdom to an end many years ago, and none living now remember this land as anything but the wilderness you see before you. None but the Elves... and Arnor was never their kingdom.” He sighed, sadness in his eyes, before telling them to hide in a nearby thicket while he scouted the Bridge himself. Before long, he was back, something shining in his hand.

 

“What have you found?” Ginny asked. “Does it... does it belong to the Nine?” They could all see Aragorn staring at it, dread and what might even have been anger in his eyes.

 

“No,” he said fiercely. “This, children, would be Elven-ware.” He held it out, and they could all see it to be a necklace, delicately crafted from silver in a shape vaguely similar to a caduceus and with a six-pointed star of diamonds set into the middle of it, which seemed to shine with a light of its own. It was very beautiful, and clearly very expensive, and how it had ended up in the middle of the Last Bridge was anyone's guess.

 

“Do Elves travel a lot?” Hermione guessed. “Because one of them might have dropped it and not realised as they were passing.”

 

“Many Elven travelling parties pass this way on the way to the West,” said Aragorn, his voice husky. “But this necklace is one of a kind, and its wearer dwells in Rivendell, or should by all rights!” Cursing, he thrust the necklace into his pocket, before noticing the concerned looks the children were giving him.

 

“Aye, do not be alarmed, it is possible no harm has come to her and there is a perfectly reasonable explanation.” Aragorn forced a smile. “Come, let us hurry, it is clear Elves have been here at any rate, which I shall take as a sign the Bridge at least is safe. We shall have to leave the Road after that, however.” He ran a hand over the pocket he'd stored the necklace in, his face full of foreboding. “How I wish we were nearer Rivendell! How I wish I knew what this meant. But I do not, and so all I can do is continue with the mission the Valar have given me.” Without another word, he turned and made for the Bridge. Exchanging concerned looks, the others followed.

 

Aragorn left the Road as soon as he could manage and turned north, into the hills. The territory here became increasingly rocky and steep, with ruins from the old days of Arnor barely distinguishable from the rocks and crags, and all overgrown with pine trees in any case. The weather was also turning increasingly cold, and Draco was shivering constantly. When they finally made camp, he sank to his knees by the fire and stayed there under cloak and blankets, not saying a word. While Hermione and Luna tended to him, and Ginny tended to dinner, Harry stopped to have a quiet word with Aragorn.

 

“So who is she?” he said softly. “The owner of the necklace, I mean.” He noticed the deep unhappiness in Aragorn's eyes at his mention of the mysterious Elven woman, and regretted asking. “Er, that's if you're OK to talk to me about it. You don't have to if you don't want.”

 

Aragorn sighed. “That tale is long indeed, Harry, and its ending is as yet unclear to me, nor is it by any means likely to be a happy one. I can tell you that the necklace represents the Evenstar, and as such it is worn by the Evenstar of her people, Lady Arwen Undomiel of Rivendell.”

 

Harry gasped. “The Queen of Rivendell was riding out here? Are we that close by? And where is she now?”

 

Aragorn shook his head grimly. “To take your questions in order: she is not Rivendell's queen, as Rivendell is not a kingdom. And even if it were, that title would properly belong to her mother, Lady Celebrian, who journeyed West many years ago.”

 

“What, does that mean she died?” Harry asked, wide-eyed.

 

“No, Harry, she is of the Eldar,” Aragorn snapped. “They are immortal, only fatal injuries and a broken heart can kill them. She journeyed West to the Grey Havens and took ship to Valinor to join the Valar. And it is a topic none in Rivendell wish to be reminded of or speak about, so you would be wise not to mention it again. Particularly not in front of her husband, Lord Elrond, Rivendell's ruler, who remained here; partly because he could not forsake his people and partly because their three children could not lose their father as well. The youngest of them is Lady Arwen, whose necklace was left on the Bridge. And to return to your questions, no she should not have been riding out here as we are over a hundred miles from Rivendell. She is known for her high spirits but even she would not be out riding this far from home with the Nine abroad. I hope she is safe at her father's house, or else with her kin in far Lothlorien. If she is not, I do not know where she might be, and for her necklace to end up here troubles me.” He fell silent, and Harry wished he hadn't asked. Harry didn't claim to be an expert on romance, far from it, but even he could tell that Aragorn's concern went far beyond that of someone concerned about an ally's family. Aragorn's care for Arwen seemed personal.

 

“You think she was captured by the Nine and they left the necklace to lure us out, don't you?” said Harry gently. Aragorn nodded.

 

“It has crossed my mind, yes. Even thought I cannot imagine how – they cannot enter Rivendell, and not even she would be so foolish as to leave without guards. Also, she is an Elven princess – Elven women do not go to war as a rule, but that does not mean they cannot fight. Even alone, the Nine would not find her easy prey. And yet I cannot help but fear for her.”

 

If Harry had doubted before, the stricken look on Aragorn's face confirmed it – this was one man with a serious crush on the Elven princess.

 

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked. He sincerely hoped that the Nine did not have Arwen as a hostage, because he wasn't entirely certain that they'd win if Aragorn had to choose between getting them to Rivendell and rescuing his lady love. Or that Elrond would be in any way inclined to assist them if it were to be revealed that their arrival had been bought at the cost of his daughter's life.

 

His concerns must have been obvious from his face, because Aragorn looked at him, laughed and clapped him on the arm.

 

“Fear not, young Harry, I am not about to abandon you to the Nine and mount a search for her. If she is truly missing, I am sure Elrond will already have done so. Besides,” and here he closed his eyes and breathed deeply before continuing, “my heart tells me she is well and that her immediate fate is none of my concern. You, however, are. Come, let us eat and talk of things more pleasant to the ear.” With that, he guided Harry back to the campfire.

 

Three days passed, and the countryside grew no more inviting, just as the weather grew steadily worse. In addition, they appeared to be heading more north than east and on the third day, Aragorn confessed them to be heading off course. He disappeared to scout for a path back to the Road, but it was three hours before he returned with news of a way forward. Of course, it involved beating through bushes and clambering over rocks, and eventually it became obvious that Neville the pony was never going to manage with a load on his back. Meaning Draco would have to walk. Everyone as one turned to look at him, wondering exactly how far he was likely to get before keeling over. Draco took this as well as could be expected.

 

“I'm fine, I tell you,” he snapped. “I'm better than I look.” Given that he'd barely eaten in a week and was losing weight rapidly, and looked paler than most corpses, this didn't really reassure anyone. “I can move my arm again and everything.” This was true, feeling and movement had returned to his upper arm, but his lower arm was still alternately cold and burning up and now painfully swollen to boot, and his hand was still useless. No one looked convinced.

 

“Well, son of Lucius, see how you manage,” said Aragorn uncertainly. “If you are having difficulties, let us know, we may be able to improvise.”

 

“If it comes to that I can levitate him,” said Hermione. “I know you said the Nine can track our magic, but honestly, if we are having trouble with a hill-pony, they aren't going to be able to get war-horses up here.”

 

“I do not need levitating!” Draco cried, shrill voice echoing off the cliffs. “I will be fine, now can we keep moving while it is still light?”

 

To that, no one could argue, so they set off. It took the best part of the day to manage the climb and the Sun was setting by the time they'd reached the top of the ridge. Surprisingly, Draco didn't complain once. In retrospect, this should have been their first warning of trouble. As they all paused to get their breath back and start making camp, Draco's legs gave way and he fell unconscious.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Draco!” Luna screamed, rushing to his side. Hermione reached for her Potions pouch, shouting at Ginny and Harry to get a fire going, as Aragorn rushed to Draco's other side, helping Luna to roll him on to his back.

 

“Too much,” said Aragorn, his voice bleak. “This was too much for him. I am a fool for not realising sooner, and yet he would have refused all offers of help, I am sure; damn him, he is more stubborn than a Gondorian princeling!”

 

“Luna, feel his arm,” said Hermione, her voice brisk as ever. “How's that shoulder doing?”

 

Luna felt under Draco's robes. “Cold. Really cold, and really pale. He's breathing, but very shallow. Hermione, will he be alright?”

 

“I don't know,” said Hermione, taking Draco's pulse. “Ginny, can you boil some kingsweed? I can't give him anything to drink if he's unconscious, but the fumes from that helped before.”

 

Ginny reached into the pouch and pulled out a handful of leaves. “Er, Hermione? This is it, this is all we have left.”

 

“Boil it,” said Aragorn firmly. “I know more or less where we are now, it is easy going from here. We can reach the Road by tomorrow afternoon and hopefully the Fords of Bruinen by the day after that. Once over those, we're in Rivendell and we can summon aid.”

 

Ginny threw the leaves into the cauldron, and the air lightened immediately. Draco's breathing slowed and became deeper, but he did not wake.

 

“I don't like his pulse rate at all,” said Hermione, still frowning. “Luna, what was it you said, you thought his magic had diverted the shard into his arm and away from his heart?”

 

Aragorn looked up at this. “His magic is strong indeed if you believe it can do that. Come now, you have seen the Nine, do you believe Draco as strong as all that compared to their magics?”

 

“He must be, he's still alive,” said Hermione, but she sounded dubious. Harry, however, was staring at Draco's crippled arm. His _left_ arm. The arm he let no one look at. 

 

“Hermione,” said Harry slowly, “I think we need to get a look at his arm, a proper look at it.” Hermione nodded and took out her wand.

 

“_Diffindo!_” Draco's sleeve split open, revealing his bare arm. The shoulder and upper arm were cold and pale, but his forearm was vivid red and swollen. That, however, was not what Harry was most interested in. Mouth dry, he turned the limb over to look at the underside.

 

Sure enough, as Harry had suspected, etched on Draco's arm was a Dark Mark... or at least, there had been. Ignoring shocked gasps from the three witches and Aragorn's insistent demand to know what was happening, he traced it with his wand... what was left of it. The skull had gone entirely, and the snake had had half its tail bitten away and was turning, appearing to hiss viciously at where the rest of the Mark had been.

 

“It wasn't just Draco's magic fighting the knife blade,” said Harry softly. “It was Voldemort's, via the Dark Mark. Voldemort didn't want other wizards trying to claim his servants so he must have built some protection into the Mark. That's how Draco's lasted this long – this would have killed him days earlier otherwise.” Of course, the thought that immediately followed was that if any of the others had fallen victim to the Nazgul blade, they'd have succumbed by now and the Ring would be Sauron's. Harry clenched at the Ring around his neck to make sure it was safe still, uncomfortable memories of how he'd nearly lost it crossing his mind. _The Nazgul were going for me, they only got Draco because he was in the way. That could have been me lying there._ He shivered at the thought.

 

“But where's the rest of it?” Ginny asked. “What happened to the skull?”

 

It was Luna who answered that. “Sauron and Voldemort are fighting for control of him,” she said sadly. “And Voldemort is losing.” Before their very eyes, another chunk disappeared from the snake's tail.

 

“Do you mean to tell me,” Aragorn's voice sounded cold and dangerous in the firelight, “that we have been harbouring a servant of your Dark Lord in this camp all the while, and no one thought to tell me?”

 

There was silence. All of them looked at each other, not quite sure how to answer this. It was Ginny who spoke up.

 

“Please, Aragorn, we didn't know. I mean, alright, we knew his father was and that Draco sympathised, but we didn't know he was actually carrying the Mark!” Ginny faltered after saying this, aware that it sounded rather hollow when said out loud.

 

“That, Lady Ginevra, would hardly be the point – I was under the impression he was a comrade in arms, even if not a beloved one,” Aragorn snapped. “Much is now clear to me as to why when I first saw you, you treated him like some kind of disease, and why you in particular, Ginevra, were so eager to either end his life or leave him for the Nazgul at Weathertop.”

 

“Ginny!” Luna cried, horrified. Ginny had the grace to look ashamed.

 

“So what are you suggesting we do with him now we all know his deep dark secret?” she asked, desperate to get the heat off herself for a bit. “Press on without him and let Evil claim Evil?”

 

Aragorn was glaring at Draco like the thought was not far from his mind. Hermione noticed too, and got to her feet.

 

“No,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “No, he stays with us. He's one of us, and with us he stays. I haven't spent the last fortnight keeping him alive to just abandon him now. Besides, Voldemort doesn't even exist yet. Our war, it's in the future, it's yet to come. Just because he sided with Voldemort in our time doesn't mean he'll side with Sauron in this one. You can see from his Mark they're not exactly allied.” She folded her arms, daring Aragorn to argue with her.

 

Next to her, Luna smiled and squeezed her arm. “Thank you, Hermione. You would have made a good Ravenclaw... but that just proved why you're a Gryffindor.”

 

Hermione started at that, then a smile broke out in answer to Luna's own. “You've got a few Gryffindor values yourself.”

 

Aragorn shook his head, unsure what that conversation entirely meant, but gathering the general gist of it. He turned to Harry.

 

“Well, Ringbearer, it seems the choice is down to you. What are we to do with him?”

 

Harry stared down at his one-time nemesis, rival, enemy, you name it, Draco had been it. And now Draco was lying at his feet, quite possibly dying, with rival Dark Lords fighting for his soul. Harry didn't envy him in the slightest, and mixed in with the envy was a fair degree of pity.

 

_Nemesis... good god, Malfoy, compared to the Dark Lords, you're nothing. You're just a kid out of your depth and trying to prove yourself, aren't you? And don't I know that feeling._

 

“We can't just leave him,” he heard himself say. “He's not the nicest person alive and I'm fairly sure he wouldn't do this for any of us, but isn't that why we're the good guys? Because we don't sink to their level?”

 

“He's right,” and this time it was Ginny's voice echoing out. “We should at least get him to Rivendell and give him a choice who he's going to side with. If he decides he wants to side with Sauron, then we can kick him out or do whatever with him. If he still wants to fight a war that hasn't even started yet, again, we'll deal. But right now, he's not serving anyone.”

 

“Well then.” Aragorn nodded. “If you are all agreed, we will proceed as we were before and endeavour to keep him alive until we get to Rivendell, at which point we release him into Elrond's care and judgement. He's committed no crime here except to fall under the Ring's spell briefly and he's being punished for that as it is. And your war is no concern of ours. He stays then, for as long as his allegiances do not conflict with ours. However,” and here he stared at them all in turn, “do not hide information like that from me again. If I am to protect you, I need to know all the relevant details in order to do so. Is that understood?”

 

There were murmured acknowledgements all round. Aragorn softened, accepting the apologies.

 

“Very good. Then let us make camp, begin dinner and make the young Malfoy comfortable. We have a long night ahead, and a long day tomorrow.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dawn saw them breaking camp and leaving early. A cursory check of Draco's arm revealed that more of the Mark had disappeared in the night, leaving only the head of the serpent remaining.

 

“At this rate, it'll be gone by tonight,” said Hermione softly. “Then what?”

 

“Then he'll be free of Voldemort,” said Luna, covering Draco's arm. Draco barely stirred as she did so. He was only just conscious of anything else around him and his eyes looked like glass.

 

“That will hardly help if Sauron turns him into a wraith,” said Hermione, wondering about Luna's priorities. Luna just smiled back, looking properly happy for the first time in weeks; since Weathertop in fact.

 

“We'll be in Rivendell soon,” said Luna cheerfully. She noticed Hermione's scepticism. “Don't worry, Hermione. I see it now. This is what's meant to happen, it's the only way to get rid of his Mark. We'll get to Rivendell now and Elrond will save him.” Taking the pony by the reins, she led him forward, falling in behind Harry and Ginny who were having a conversation that from the sound of it was about who would win a fight between a Nazgul and a Dementor.

 

As Aragorn had predicted, the way became easier from that point – it was all downhill, the sun was shining, and rocky crags gave way to a clear path through forest. Sure enough, they were at the Road again by mid-afternoon. Aragorn checked both directions and led them on.

 

“We are still some distance from the Fords,” he told them. “Come, we need to press on and cover as much ground as we can tonight. I do not like the way Draco looks.”

 

This was true enough – Draco was presently clinging to Neville's mane, shivering all over and whimpering about how grey it was. Given that they were bathed in autumnal sunshine, that was not a good sign. However, there was little they could do for him except press on.

 

Time passed, and the sun began to sink below the horizon, bringing with it the question of where they stopped for the night, and perhaps more importantly, when. None of them wished to travel by night, and yet every mile covered now was one step nearer to Rivendell and safety, and one less travelled tomorrow. And so they kept walking, even as Aragorn's eyes were constantly on the look out for somewhere to make camp. Then came a sound no one wanted to hear – horses' hooves on the Road behind them.

 

“Quick,” said Aragorn urgently. “Into the undergrowth to the north and up the hill. If we are above them, it is less likely they will see us.” He ushered them into the bushes and had them all scrambling up the slope. Neville the pony he concealed behind a tree, while everyone else crouched out of sight, all of them listening intently. The hooves drew nearer and as they did so, something else also became audible – the sound of tinkling bells, and with it a noticeable lifting of the darkness. Draco's eyes flickered open, and there was hope there.

 

“Elbereth,” he whispered. “Elbereth Gilthoniel, o Eldar, I am here!”

 

Sure enough, around the corner came not one but two white horses, with riders dressed in green and seeming to almost glow in the twilight. One was wearing a tunic, boots and leggings, with a cloak over the top and a sword at his side, with golden blonde hair reaching to his shoulders. The other was wearing flowing robes not dissimilar to wizarding world dress robes and a cloak, with long dark hair flowing to her waist. She also had a sword at her belt, and a circlet of silver rested on her head.

 

“Arwen,” Aragorn breathed, a weight seeming to fall from his shoulders and his heart lightening. Even as he spoke, the woman reined in her horse and turned in their direction. Seeing this, her male companion did likewise. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that the two of them could see their hiding place without even trying, and tightened his grip on the Ring.

 

Aragorn broke cover and virtually ran down the hillside. As he staggered on to the Road, the woman dismounted and went to join him, holding her arms out with a smile. Aragorn went to her without hesitation, and the two of them embraced. Harry squirmed with embarrassment as he realised the two of them were kissing.

 

“We made it,” he heard Luna whisper, relief evident in her voice. She got to her feet and took Neville's reins, following Aragorn's trail.

 

“Should we be interrupting-” Harry began, but Ginny and Hermione were following Luna down the slope already.

 

“Someone should or we'll be here all night,” Ginny laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she followed Hermione. Sighing, Harry got up and picked his way down the hill.

 

By this time, Aragorn and the woman who was clearly Arwen of Rivendell had broken off the kiss and turned to watch the children. The blond Elf-lord also chose this moment to dismount and walked to stand next to Arwen.

 

“But who are these, Aragorn?” Arwen asked, her voice high and clear and reminiscent of a peal of bells, or a waterfall. The tops of delicately pointed ears were visible through her hair. “My father spoke of halflings.”

 

“Indeed,” said the male Elf. “We had tidings from our kin who were journeying beyond the Baranduin that there were four hobbits astray without guidance and bearing a great burden, and Mithrandir not there to protect them and the Nine abroad.”

 

“Your tidings _were_ true,” said Aragorn, bristling slightly at the Elf, “but greater magic than we know intervened. The hobbits have been taken to the far distant future, and these children have come in their place. One of their number bears that which the Nine seek.”

 

Both Elves immediately turned their eyes to Draco, who was slumped over the pony's mane. If anyone looked like they might be carrying a talisman of evil, it was surely him. Aragorn shook his head.

 

“No, not him. He was injured by the Nine, but was not their target. The one I speak of is this boy.” He beckoned Harry forward, seeming not to notice Harry's increasing nervousness. “Harry, son of James, of the family Potter, allow me to introduce Lady Arwen of Rivendell.”

 

Arwen smiled. She was the same height as Aragorn and a full head taller than Harry was, and when she smiled like that, everything else in Harry's vicinity seemed to go a bit vague and fuzzy.

 

“Hello, my dear,” she said, leaning down and holding out a hand to Harry. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

Harry felt himself go pink and heard himself babbling something which may or may not have been English but probably didn't make sense in any language. Behind him, he heard someone who was almost certainly Ginny tutting.

 

Arwen looked at him sympathetically. “You are very young, are you not? Even by the standards of Men. Tell me, how many summers do you have?”

 

“She's asking your age, Harry,” said Luna, trying to be helpful. Given that Harry barely remembered his name at this point, this wasn't as much use as it should have been.

 

“Sixteen, Lady Arwen, he's sixteen,” said Hermione, losing patience. “We all are – well, apart from me, I was seventeen a month or so ago. And Ginny and Luna here are still only fifteen at the moment.”

 

“Sixteen, seventeen and fifteen – Valar, you are mere babies!” Arwen gasped. “And to have journeyed through the wilderness with the Nine on your heels – Aragorn, what have you been subjecting these poor children to?”

 

“They would have fared far worse if I had not been there, my lady,” said Aragorn. “And besides, they are not defenceless. They have power to rival Mithrandir's.”

 

“Mithrandir?” the male Elf scoffed. “The Valar do not give power such as his to mere children.”

 

“Glorfindel, that's enough,” said Arwen. She stood up and turned to look at the others. “So may I have the names of the rest of you?”

 

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione at once, going slightly pink herself but retaining her composure. “This is Ginny Weasley, and this is Luna Lovegood. And that,” she indicated Draco with the merest nod of her head, “is Draco Malfoy.”

 

Arwen bowed formally. “It is my pleasure and privilege to meet you all. I am Lady Arwen of Rivendell, called by many Undomiel, or Evenstar in your tongue. May I also present my companion, Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell, who is one of my father's chief advisors?”

 

“And who apparently advised him to let you out of Rivendell with the Nine abroad,” scowled Aragorn. “Lady, may I ask how your necklace ended up on the Last Bridge?” He withdrew the Evenstar necklace from his pocket and held it out to her.

 

“Oh, you found it!” Arwen gasped. “Thank you!” She held out her hand for it, but Aragorn held it back.

 

“Explanation first,” he said firmly. “Then you may have it back.”

 

Arwen pouted, which did look very odd on the face of an Elf-maiden. “Oh very well,” she sighed. “When Elrond heard the hobbits were on the Road and in trouble, he sent search parties out North, South and West to find them. Few are there who can ride openly against the Nine, but such as are in Rivendell were sent, my brothers among them.”

 

“And you?” Aragorn prompted. “Elrond surely did not send you.”

 

Arwen bristled at this. “Aragorn, I am of the Eldar and can ride as well as any edhel. I learnt swordcraft from my brothers, magical arts from my parents and grandparents, and my ancestry is as fine as theirs! Why not me?”

 

“It would be then the first time I have ever seen Lord Elrond willing to expose you to any risk or danger that could be avoided,” Aragorn replied. “Did he in truth send you to search for us?”

 

“Well, not at first,” Arwen confessed. “But I had a dream, Aragorn, a dream that I was needed and that I should ride out to find you myself, and I told my father of it and insisted I be allowed to go.”

 

“And he just allowed this?” Aragorn asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No,” Glorfindel put in, “it took days of pleading, begging, tantrums, throwing things, refusing to eat and threats to write to Lady Galadriel and tell her she was being mistreated, and that if Luthien Tinuviel could ride into the dread fortress Thangorodrim after her lover, surely she could ride to Bree in search of hers, before my lord Elrond finally gave in and told her she might ride out as long as I accompanied her, and we were to ride no further than the Mitheithel then return.”

 

Arwen blushed only slightly at this version of events. “He said he had had a similar foredream to mine and agreed that I might go. So Glorfindel and I rode out to the Mitheithel, reaching it about seven days ago.”

 

“Three days before we did,” said Hermione, calculating the distance. “Was that when we had that awful rain?”

 

Arwen and Glorfindel exchanged conspiratorial glances. “That would be it, yes.”

 

Aragorn sighed. “Arwen, my love, what did you do?”

 

“Twas not my fault!” Arwen cried. “We ran into three servants of Sauron on the Bridge of Mitheithel. Glorfindel and I had to fight them.”

 

“Be not alarmed, Aragorn,” Glorfindel drawled, noticing Aragorn's reaction to this news. “We did no such thing – they fled when they saw us and the worst that befell us was, after a day's pursuit, my Lady discovering that she had lost her necklace in the process.”

 

“Yes, and had you a lover who had gifted you with something so precious, you also would have mourned the loss as I did,” Arwen snapped at him. She turned gentle eyes on Aragorn. “My love, I could never take easily the loss of something you had given me.”

 

Aragorn did actually blush at this, turning away hastily. He held the necklace out to her.

 

“Then find it returned to your care, my lady.” He let it fall into her hands. Arwen took it from him and refastened it around her neck, sighing happily. The stone actually glowed as it fell into place.

 

“There, that is better,” Arwen laughed. “Anyway, we faced three of them and it looked as if they were planning to fight us, but Glorfindel and I did some weather magic and brought rain. There is no rain in Mordor and so it encouraged them to leave and we followed to make sure they did.”

 

“So that was your fault?” Ginny said. “That was the most miserable night we'd had in a long time.”

 

“My apologies, daughter of Man,” said Arwen with a smile. “I forget this sort of thing is much worse for your kind than ours. But surely rain is preferable to the Nine invading your camp?”

 

Ginny thought back to that night on Weathertop and had to admit this was the case.

 

“We also came across two others, but they rode away to the South,” Glorfindel said, taking up the story. “After that, we searched for your trail for a day but found nothing. So, mindful of Lord Elrond's request, we rode back to the Bridge and there we found your trail. We found you'd gone into the hills, but we feared for our horses if we followed you.”

 

“And if our mounts could not manage the trail, be sure the Nine's would not,” Arwen added. “So we followed the Road East, hoping we would find you on the way. And so it has proved!”

 

“Fortunate indeed are we,” said Glorfindel. “Not so with your injured companion, I see. For I have seen mortally wounded Men and Elves who have seemed yet healthier than he. 'Ware, Lady Granger, he looks to fall!”

 

Hermione turned round just as Draco's eyes closed and he slid from the pony. She was only just able to catch him before he hit the ground.

 

“Help... me!” she gasped. Glorfindel and Aragorn were by her side in seconds, taking Draco's weight from her and lowering him to the ground. Arwen reached for a pouch that hung from her horse and went to kneel at his side.

 

“What ails him?” she asked gently. Aragorn related the tale of the attack at Weathertop and how Draco had intervened when the Nazgul had induced Harry to put the Ring on. The faces of both Elves grew solemn to hear it.

 

“Aie, this is beyond my power to heal,” sighed Glorfindel. “Lady, what think you?”

 

Arwen shook her head as she stroked Draco's hair, staring at his eyes which were half-open, half-closed and clearly seeing nothing.

 

“I do not know,” she sighed. “I think even my father would be tested in the curing of this hurt. But I will do what I can.” She withdrew a vial of clear liquid from her bag and let a few drops fall into Draco's mouth, before sliding an arm under him to cradle his head in her lap and beginning to sing to him in Sindarin.

 

“What's she singing?” Hermione whispered to Luna. “It sounds beautiful!” And so it did – the shadows seemed to shrink back and a feeling of peace fell over all of them.

 

“I think it might be a lullaby,” Luna whispered back, “except there's healing magic mixed in it, so perhaps it's what an Elf might sing to a sick child. It translates roughly as:

 

_Rest, my little one,_

_Sleep, my little one,_

_Safe in Elbereth's arms you are,_

_Safe from the knife that cuts_

_And the rock that grazes._

_Safe from the poison,_

_Safe from the Shadow,_

_Safe in the arms of Elbereth._

 

_Wake, my little one,_

_Rise, my little one,_

_Rise to sunlit splendour._

_Rise with the strength of trees_

_And the swiftness of the River._

_Wake from nightmares,_

_Wake to the dawn rise,_

_Wake in the arms of Elbereth!”_

 

“Elbereth,” Draco moaned, eyes flicking open. “O Elbereth!” He stared at Arwen's face, eyes clear and far less grey and gaunt than he had been. “You... are you...?”

 

Arwen just smiled.

 

“My name is Arwen,” she told him.

 

“Arwen...” Draco repeated. Then he gasped. “You are _Arwen?? _Arwen the _Evenstar?_”

 

“That is so, yes,” said Arwen, frowning. “Young one, you are new to this world and yet have heard of me? I did not know my name was known widely outside of the Eldar.”

 

“It's not,” Draco whispered. “I mean... it's not known outside your family, even in our time.”

 

“Family?” said Glorfindel sharply. “Arwen, what does he mean, surely the Eldar have all gone West by the year of his birth, if Aragorn speaks true?”

 

Arwen fingered her necklace, her pretty face frozen in astonishment. “I have... kin in Middle Earth in the far future? Eldar?”

 

Draco shook his head. “No, my lady. Wizards and witches. You... you're my many, many times over great-grandmother.”

 

“What?” Hermione cried. “You're not telling me he's part-Elf!”

 

“House Elf, I could believe,” Ginny muttered. She noticed the queasy looks on Harry and Hermione's faces at this. “Come on, you're not telling me no member of the Black family ever...”

 

“It's true,” said Luna. “Or at least the Blacks believe it to be true. My mother always told me the reason for the Blacks' obsession with blood purity was that they thought they were descended from Elves and didn't want to dilute the bloodline any more than it already was. They're wrong, of course, it was so long ago by our time that the Elven genes are found pretty much everywhere. Even Muggles have them.”

 

Shaking, Arwen was getting to her feet, brushing her dress off and steadily ignoring both Aragorn and Glorfindel, who were staring at her with looks of amazement and betrayal respectively.

 

“My lady,” Glorfindel whispered, looking near tears, “you truly would not, could not leave your people...”

 

“Draco shall ride with me,” Arwen announced, as if Glorfindel had not spoken. “The children shall mount their packs on the pony, and Glorfindel, your horse will take Harry the Ringbearer in case we are set upon by the enemy. Everyone else must walk and walk immediately. The enemy are not as far behind us as I would like and we are yet too far from Rivendell.” So saying, she gathered her healer's pouch and mounted her horse in one single move so fast, it appeared she had almost Apparated onto its back. “Aragorn, Glorfindel, hand the stricken one to me.”

 

Glorfindel, despite shooting Aragorn a look of what looked almost like hate, nevertheless helped him lift Draco and pass him to Arwen. She touched Draco's shoulders and her fingers began to glow as she pulled him in front of her with surprising ease.

 

“Magic,” Hermione whispered. “I think she just levitated him!”

 

“Nay, my lady,” said Glorfindel, his keen hearing picking her words out. “Tis no great magic, just the using of the boy's own weight to move him. It is a skill most Eldar learn young. Come,” and with an effort he buried his melancholy and smiled at them, “let me demonstrate with the Ringbearer. Stand by Asfaloth, son of James, take hold of his mane and place your foot in my hand.” He stood by his horse, waiting with hands cupped. Nervously, Harry approached and did as the Elf had bid.

 

“Now, young Harry, jump!” Glorfindel cried. Harry did so, the Elf moved his hands, and next thing Harry knew, he was seated on horseback and Glorfindel was adjusting the stirrups to fit.

 

“How... how did you -?” Harry began.

 

“Tis simple,” Glorfindel grinned. “Your body has weight, and that weight exerts a force that keeps you on the ground. It is a simple matter to take that force and send a little of it in the other direction.”

 

“But that's a core principle behind most forms of martial arts and magical flight!” Hermione gasped. “And all the Elves just use it without even thinking about it?”

 

“Now you've done it,” Ginny laughed as Hermione immediately began bombarding Glorfindel with questions. “You'll never stop her now.”

 

“No, no, the distraction is welcome,” Glorfindel laughed good-naturedly, before calmly answering Hermione's questions as they set off for Rivendell.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Despite the cheerful beginning, even Hermione ran low on spirits after a while, as the night bore on and it became evident they weren't going to stop for a rest. Arwen and Glorfindel passed round some small flakes of _lembas,_ or waybread, that they had left, which helped, but it was no real substitute for sleep. Glorfindel did at least let the Gryffindors take turns riding his horse so that each of them got a turn to rest their legs.

 

They finally stopped a little before dawn, and Arwen let them all drink a little of the clear potion she carried with her. For five hours and little more they slept, and then the two Elves were urging them awake once more. Breakfast was finished hastily, and then they resumed walking. The two Elves were constantly glancing over their shoulders anxiously, and both of them had hurried and urgent conversations with Aragorn and each other.

 

“What are they saying?” Ginny asked Luna.

 

“It is not good,” said Luna, looking rather anxious herself. “They think the five Nazgul behind us have got our scent and are chasing us. They're far behind at the moment but they'll catch up, probably soon. That's why they want to press on, because they don't want to be caught before we reach the Fords. Also they're worried about where the other four are, and they think there might be an ambush planned.”

 

“Oh, that's cheery,” said Ginny faintly. “Is there any good news?”

 

“Not really, not unless you count Glorfindel telling Arwen that Aragorn's not good enough for her and begging her to reconsider, and Arwen tersely telling him that she will follow her heart or fade from this Earth.”

 

“Some definition of good,” Ginny sniffed. “Blood purity alive and well even this long ago, then.”

 

Luna shook her head. “It's not the same. Elves and humans, they're not the same species although they are related and can interbreed. Elves are ageless immortals, humans age and die in only a few years – if Arwen did marry Aragorn, she'd have to watch him grow old while she stayed ever young, and then be widowed after only an eye-blink by her standards. Not only that, but the Elves are leaving Middle Earth – by the time Aragorn dies, they'll have left for Valinor, and she'll be stranded, the last of her kind. She'll never see any of her family again. That's why the Elves are all against her marrying Aragorn – she's their beautiful Evenstar and they don't want to leave her behind.”

 

“But she's Draco's ancestor,” said Hermione. “So that must mean she stayed and married Aragorn and had mortal children.”

 

Luna nodded. “Exactly. Which is why Glorfindel's so upset – it's one thing to know Arwen loves a mortal and that she'll probably marry him after the battle against Sauron, but not really having to think about it because it hasn't happened yet. It's another entirely to see the proof many times removed that the wedding really did happen and she really did stay behind.”

 

“Elrond's not going to take the news any better, is he?” said Hermione. Luna shook her head.

 

“Probably not.”

 

“Yes, but will he still want to help us get home?” Ginny asked.

 

“I don't know,” said Luna thoughtfully. “But he is an Elf. They aren't like humans, and even if something upsets them and hurts them, they are far less likely to lose their temper at it like a human would. I think he will want to do what he can.”

 

“I hope you're right,” Ginny sighed.

 

They journeyed all that day and through much of the night too, but Arwen and Glorfindel did this time at least stop before midnight and allow them to rest for the night. All too soon though, rest was over and they were setting out again as the sun rose. The journey was uneventful, but as the morning wore on, both Elves and Aragorn were looking increasingly anxious, and after lunch, Glorfindel insisted that Harry ride his horse again and stay on it this time until they'd crossed the Fords.

 

“I'm sure I can walk,” Harry protested, feeling rather guilty at riding while the girls walked alongside. He was sure none of them would have ever admitted it, but all three looked exhausted. Glorfindel shook his head.

 

“No, Harry. My heart tells me danger is not far away, and I fear it will get worse as we approach Bruinen. You must ride so that you may escape if the Nine fall on us, and keep the Ring from their clutches.”

 

“What?” Harry cried. “I can't ride off and let you lot do all the fighting! It's me they want, after all.”

 

“Exactly,” said Aragorn, falling in on the other side of the horse. “It's you they want, and that which you bear, and so we must ensure that you are able to flee from them by giving you a mount faster than theirs. Fear not, Harry; you are not abandoning us to mortal peril. Rather, the mortal peril is that which you bear, and the Nine will leave us in peace if you are elsewhere.”

 

This was not nearly as cheering to Harry as Aragorn had intended and his face showed it. Arwen, whose keen Elven ears had overheard everything, glanced over her shoulder with a smile.

 

“Have no fear, Harry,” she called, and really, the ancestor of Bellatrix Lestrange and Draco Malfoy had no right whatsoever to be that pretty, “all you need do is cross Bruinen and then you will be in my father's land. The Nine cannot hurt you there!”

 

All well and good, thought Harry, but first they had to get there. The day wore on, but finally the Road wound its way through a narrow ravine and then out on to the Bruinen's flood plain, the river clearly visible in the sunlight as it wound its away across the landscape. Harry had never seen a sight so welcome.

 

“Not far now,” he sighed.

 

“Too far,” he heard Draco moan from the back of Arwen's horse, and as one Arwen and Glorfindel turned to look behind them, Elven ears quivering. Then Harry heard it too – the echoing sound of hoofbeats... and none of them were moving. Taking Asfaloth's reins in one hand, he gripped his wand with the other, and noted the three witches reaching for theirs.

 

“Fly! Fly!” Glorfindel cried. “The Enemy is here!” Arwen did not need to be told twice and her horse took off without another word. Harry hesitated, torn between going after her and helping his friends, until Glorfindel took the decision out of his hands by clapping Asfaloth's side and ordering the horse to flee. Harry cried as the horse sprang forward, bolting after Arwen.

 

Harry had ridden a broomstick plenty of times, but this didn't even come close. It wasn't quite like riding a Thestral either – at least a Thestral would have responded to him. Asfaloth clearly had one intention and one intention only – to get to the river as swiftly as possible, and nothing Harry could do was going to change that. Clinging on to his wand and the reins, he kept his head down. A glance behind him saw his friends scattering as five Black Riders bolted out of the ravine and fanned out to give chase. A few silver Patroni chased after them, but didn't follow them far. Harry looked away, hoping for better news up ahead. Asfaloth had now caught up with Arwen, and the two horses were neck and neck. Arwen saw him and gave him an encouraging smile.

 

“Fear not!” she called out. “These horses can outride any beast of Mordor!” In front of her, Draco, apparently conscious but wishing he wasn't, was looking far less confident. He was looking to his right, behind Harry and his eyes had gone wide. Harry would have looked, but he could see what Arwen and Draco hadn't – another Rider emerging from behind them to cut them off.

 

“Lady, behind you!” he cried.

 

“And you!” she cried, before spurring her horse on as she drew her sword with her left hand, brandishing it at the Rider and shouting at it in Sindarin. Harry hadn't thought Sindarin had any swearing in it, but Arwen was assuredly using the nearest thing it had. However, he had little time to think about it as a look to his right revealed another Nazgul closing in.

 

“_Expecto Patronum!_” he cried, and the silver stag leapt out, causing them both to rear and fall back. It had bought them a little time, at least, and the river was right in front of them. _If we can just keep going..._

 

A high-pitched cry issued from one of the Riders, and Harry felt his heart sink as the final two Nazgul appeared up ahead, on a course to intercept them before they reached the Ford. Arwen cried out, an anguished Sindarin wail that did at least cause one of the Riders to hesitate. Harry didn't have it in him for another Patronus, but he did manage a fire charm aimed at the robes of the Nazgul nearest him, causing its horse to rear as the wraith tried to beat the flames out. Asfaloth thundered into the River, water soaking Harry's robes in the process, but he barely noticed. The Elven war-horse finally came to a halt on the other side and Harry gratefully slid off its back before looking to see where Arwen was.

 

Arwen and the Rider that had been tailing her were riding neck and neck, and her mare was visibly tiring. The Nazgul cackled in jubilation as it pulled ahead, ghostly hands reaching for Draco. Arwen shrieked at it and it withdrew its hand, but still managed to wheel in front of her. Arwen cried out what sounded like an invocation to Elbereth, ready to fight but clearly terrified. And then Draco sat up and drew his wand, trembling. He shouted something, and then his own Patronus, a great eagle, sprang forward at the Nazgul. Shrieking, it wheeled its horse away and fell back, and Arwen's mare galloped into the Ford. Harry stepped back as the mare came to a halt next to him, eyes wide and breathing heavily. Arwen slid off her back, clearly exhausted.

 

“She is a good horse, but she was not bred for war,” Arwen whispered. “Here, Harry, help me get Draco off her back.” Harry did so and watched as Arwen spoke briefly to her horse and sent it on its way.

 

“There, she will go to my father's house,” said Arwen. “He will not fail to send aid when he sees his daughter's horse come back riderless. But come, we are not safe yet and the young Malfoy is exhausted after that. Aragorn spoke the truth when he said your power rivalled Mithrandir's!”

 

Harry felt himself blushing at the compliment, but now was not the time to worry about that. The Nine Riders were massing on the other side of the river, and even though technically they were now in Rivendell and should be safe, in reality Harry couldn't see anything that would stop them crossing over.

 

“Can they enter it?” he asked, feeling his throat go dry. Arwen nodded, smiling.

 

“Oh, they can _enter_ it,” said Arwen, her voice cold and hard, and in that moment Harry did see something of a family resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange. She called out to them, in the tongue of Men this time. “Come then, Ringwraiths! If you want it, come and claim it!”

 

Draco stirred at her feet. “What is she doing?” he murmured.

 

“I don't know, but I think she's taunting them,” Harry answered.

 

“Oh buggering hell,” Draco moaned. “Why are all the women in my family so utterly insane?”

 

“Be quiet, young one,” Arwen snapped, raising her sword as she glared at the Riders. “I want them to enter the River, I want them all to _enter_ the River!” She turned, giving Harry a very cold smile indeed that was pure Lestrange or he had never met the woman. “And then I will make sure they never leave it. Are you with me, son of James?”

 

Harry decided there and then that he was very glad she was on their side. “I'm with you!” he said fervently.

 

“And you, son of Lucius?” she asked Draco. Slowly, Draco dragged himself to his knees. His eyes were glazed over and he was shivering... but he looked determined.

 

“I am done,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “with being ordered around by Dark Lords!” He rolled his sleeve back to reveal his left forearm, bare and free of the Mark at last. Harry stared and looked up to see Draco's face alive with unholy glee.

 

“That's right, Potter, Sauron's fought my Mark and now he's coming for me. But damned if I'm letting him get me without a fight!” He turned to face the Riders, raising his wand. “Come on then, you pathetic excuses for minions, come and get me if you want me that much!”

 

The lead Rider barked out a laugh and urged his horse on into the water. “Why do you fight, young wizard?” it hissed. “Join us, we will give you far more power than the puny mortal you once served ever could!”

 

“Never!” Draco snarled, before wincing in pain and grabbing his arm. Arwen glanced at him, alarmed, before reaching down to stroke his hair.

 

“Ssh, young one, if you are mine, you are Elbereth's, I will not let them take you.”

 

“Elbereth,” Draco whispered. “Oh Elbereth, I just want to go home.” Another shaking fit took hold of him as he screamed in pain. The lead Rider laughed, halfway over now, and the others were close behind, with only three still on the far bank.

 

“Come, little wizard, come with us!” the Nazgul called. “Take the Ring from the other one and come to Mordor with us! Sauron will reward you!”

 

Draco whimpered, clutching at his shoulder. Seeing this, Arwen squeezed his good shoulder.

 

“Do not believe them,” she said softly. Draco nodded but said nothing. Harry narrowed his eyes and raised his wand.

 

“You will never take the Ring from me!” Harry growled. “Go back to the hell you came from!”

 

“The Ring is too great for you, mortal child!” the Nazgul leader snarled, less than three feet away now. “It will master you in the end and bring you to Sauron's knees. Come, come with us, hand it over of your own will, and Sauron will be merciful.”

 

“Never!” cried Harry, clutching at the chain around his neck, mind pulsing with hate at the idea of anyone taking it from him. “I'll never give it to you.” He raised his wand, preparing to strike.

 

“Then we will take it,” the Nazgul hissed. “We will kill you, and the Elf-maiden, you cannot hold against all of us, and your friends are too far to help you. We will take the Ring and enslave your friend, and when the others arrive, we will kill them too!” The lead Nazgul's horse lifted its hoof, ready to step out of the River.

 

“Arwen,” Harry began, glancing at the Elf and not quite managing to keep the panic out of his voice, “if you have a plan, now would be a really good time to do something about it...”

 

Arwen didn't seem to hear him. She was watching the last Nazgul, whose horse had just stepped into the river. Stepping back, she lifted her hands above her head, placed her palms together with her eyes closed and cried something that Harry could have sworn sounded like “_Fluvius Majestis Defensor Me, Imladris Filia Imperata!_”

 

Next to him, Draco lifted his head. “That was not Latin, surely?”

 

“Can't have been, no Romans for millennia,” said Harry. “You heard it too?”

 

“Might of the River, defend me, I, Daughter of Imladris, command it,” said Draco. “Or something like it.” He stared at Arwen. “She and they, they are the only real things any more, everything else is so grey, Arwen, please don't let them take me!” The last sentence broke into a sob. Harry instinctively reached out and awkwardly patted Draco's shoulder, becoming aware as he did so of a roar that was not caused by Nazgul. He turned to look at Arwen. She was standing impassively in front of the first Nazgul, staring back at him with seemingly no fear. The distant roar, rather like that of a waterfall grew louder. The Nazgul's horse reared above Arwen, Draco cried in agony and Harry for a moment feared that the horse was about to strike her down.

 

Before the hooves could fall, the roar intensified and what looked like a tidal wave burst around the corner, river water sweeping all in its path. Harry could have sworn that the waves had white horses leaping at their crests. The Nazgul didn't have a chance, shrieking as the water hit him and the hooves of the water horses crashed into them. The spray from the river fell on them all as the water swept past, taking with it Nine Riders to who knew where. Arwen just watched, impassive, as the water carried them away before falling slowly back to its usual level. Through the spray, Harry could just see the outlines of three witches with wands held high, one glowing Elf-lord brimming with power, and Aragorn with a flaming brand in each hand, his eyes travelling briefly over Harry and Draco before settling on Arwen. She was watching him through the spray-clouds, smiling, and this time there was nothing of Bellatrix in her smile.

 

“Elessar and Undomiel,” Harry heard Draco whisper. “It's true, it's all true, and here am I, biggest bloody half-breed going as a result. Damn, Mother, we're wrong, all of us, so bloody stupid, what's Muggles and wizards compared to those two?”

 

“Draco?” Harry asked. Draco just smiled up at him, peace on his face despite his eyes having clouded over with a horrible shade of grey.

 

“Death to Dark Lords,” Draco whispered. “If you make it home, try and save my mother.” His eyes closed and he collapsed in Harry's arms, breathing but only just.

 

“What, no, Draco, you can't just... _Arwen!!!_” Harry cried, fighting the urge to panic. Arwen turned, eyes widening as she rushed to Harry's side, crying out in Sindarin and pouring healing potions down Draco's throat. Behind her, he heard splashing as the others forded the river, and from the other direction, horses and bells. And then there were other Elves around them as an Elven war-party rode in and dismounted around them. Many strange but beautiful voices surrounded him, and Arwen got to her feet, crying “Ada, ada!” at the seeming leader, a dark-haired elf with a forbidding expression but undoubtedly with similar features to her. They embraced briefly before he knelt down next to Draco and began tracing his shoulder, rapidly plying Arwen with questions. Glorfindel was soon there too, joining in the conversation, and Aragorn was standing behind Arwen, adding his own contribution.

 

“Harry!” Hermione cried. “Are you alright?” She flung her arms around him without waiting for an answer.

 

“I'm fine,” said Harry. “I think. I don't know about Draco though, I – I really don't. I think he might be...” He felt himself choking on the words. _He can't die here, we can't leave him behind!_

 

Hermione tightened her grip, and he was aware of Ginny on his other side, joining them in a three-way hug. Next to them, he was aware of Luna standing alone, watching the Elves surrounding him. Draco was face down and his clothes had been torn off his upper half. The dark-haired leader who looked like Arwen and could really only be her father, Elrond, was wielding a knife and slowly drawing it across Draco's shoulder.

 

“He will be alright,” Luna whispered, turning away to face them, tears in her eyes and not looking at all like she really believed that at the moment.

 

“That will be in the hands of the Valar,” a man's voice came from behind them, “but be assured Elrond will do all he can for your friend.”

 

All four turned and gasped. Before them was a tall man in grey robes and broad hat, with a long white beard and a staff, and looking so like Dumbledore that Harry barely stopped himself from calling the wizard, for clearly he was one, by his Headmaster's name.

 

“Oh! You're Gandalf!” Luna cried, clearly delighted. The wizard bowed with a smile.

 

“That is indeed a name of mine,” he replied. “The Elves call me Mithrandir, and I have had many other names in many other times and places. I do not, however, have the pleasure of yours.”

 

“Luna Lovegood,” said Luna. “These are Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter, and the one Elrond's looking after is Draco Malfoy. They're my friends.”

 

“Indeed,” said Gandalf. “And it seems you call Aragorn and the Evenstar and Lord Glorfindel friend too, seeing as all of them have risked their lives to bring you here. However, I have other friends too, four of them of the race known as Hobbits. Do you know them as well?”

 

Harry felt himself blushing and could see Ginny and Hermione also not sure how to answer this. Aragorn's resemblance to Sirius, and the fact he'd not seemed to know the hobbits personally, had made things a lot less awkward when explaining to him. Gandalf, however, seemed a lot less friendly, and clearly he'd known the ones they'd replaced. As one, all three turned to Luna, who was the only one not embarrassed.

 

“Not personally, but they should be quite safe in the far future,” she said calmly. “That's where we came from. We were sent back here by a spell, and it took the hobbits in exchange. They'll stay in the future while we help here.”

 

“I see. And how are you to help us, I wonder,” said Gandalf, stroking his beard. “You do have power, that much is obvious from the way you fought off the Nine. And the boy Draco saved Arwen's life, that will count for much with Elrond. You also stood against Sauron's agents, so that is well. But still, there is much I do not know or understand about all this.”

 

“Well, that makes all of us, sir,” said Ginny. “But if there's anything we can do while we're here, we'll gladly help if we can.”

 

Gandalf did smile at that. “Young lady, do not make promises without knowing what must be done to fulfil them. But I see you have a good heart and the offer is well made, so I will take that into consideration. Ah, I see Elrond is done with your comrade.” Sure enough, Elrond was sitting back from Draco, a sliver of metal hovering in the air in front of him. Catching Gandalf's eye, he indicated with a hand and sent it drifting towards the wizard. Gandalf reached out with his staff as it approached and touched it, causing it to immediately catch fire and go up in smoke, molten remains falling to the ground and shrivelling into nothing.

 

“What was that?” Hermione asked.

 

“A sliver of a Morgul-blade, the same sliver that was causing such pain to your friend. It is removed now, and I am hopeful that his suffering will be at an end.” By the river, Elrond was drawing a finger over the cut in Draco's shoulder, sealing the wound. One Elf came over with a bowl of river water, a towel and a bar of soap for Elrond to wash his hands in, while two more had readied a makeshift stretcher and were carefully moving Draco on to it. While still unconscious, he was already looking a lot healthier, and the horrible grey tinge had gone from his skin.

 

“Come, it seems we are on the move,” said Gandalf. The two Elves carrying Draco's stretcher were securing both ends to horses with strong-woven Elven ropes and leading him away, and another had already ridden off to bear news of their coming and begin preparations. Elrond was talking with Glorfindel as they walked, and Aragorn was with Arwen. Both of them gave the children sympathetic glances, but it seemed neither was willing to intervene while they spoke with Gandalf.

 

“Walk with me, young ones, and tell me more of how you came to be here,” said Gandalf, apparently deciding that they meant no harm. “I would know more of your world and your powers, and the spell that sent you here. Decisions on your eventual fate will have to wait until Elrond can call a council and hear you out, but I believe this tale will be long in the telling, so perhaps it is best for me to hear it while we walk. Young Luna, was it? Walk next to me and tell me of your journey. I see there is much to be told.”

 

Luna cheerfully ran to his side and began telling him everything, about Hogwarts, Voldemort, Dumbledore, about Calenlass's arrival and instructions from Elbereth that the four of them should be sent back in time in order to help save Middle Earth and themselves. Harry, Hermione and Ginny could only fall in behind and follow.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In the far future, Voldemort closed the book, sitting back in the armchair closest to the fire, his face impassive.

 

“My lord?” Bellatrix asked, nervously.

 

“It appears your nephew is lost to us,” Voldemort said, his face remaining neutral. “I feared it would be so.”

 

Bellatrix exchanged glances with Snape. They were seated at opposite ends of a battered antique sofa that had clearly seen better days, in what had once been the drawing room of the old Riddle House in Little Hangleton, and now served as Voldemort's personal office. “Lost, my lord? Is he... is he dead?”

 

“As far as I am concerned, yes.” Voldemort shrugged. “No matter.” He snapped his fingers. “Wormtail!”

 

Wormtail scurried forward, wringing his hands. “My lord?”

 

“Take Flint, Derrick and the Carrows. Then go and fetch that which we discussed earlier.”

 

“My lord, we discussed many things earlier – ah!” Voldemort, his patience snapping, grabbed Wormtail by the robes, staring into his eyes.

 

“I believe you know what I am referring to,” he said, his voice soft but no less menacing. Wormtail nodded in terror. Voldemort released him and the wizard fled, clearly not eager to be around his leader for any longer than necessary. Bellatrix glanced at Snape, who clearly knew no more than she did.

 

“My lord,” he began, “tell me, what has transpired in Arda? Is it something likely to help or hinder our cause?”

 

“Be quiet, Snape. It hardly matters if we cannot get there, does it?” Voldemort sat brooding, staring into the flames. “I do not believe this will work, but it has to be worth trying.” He fell silent, and nothing more could be got out of him for another half hour... not until a commotion in the hallway indicated Wormtail had returned. And not just Wormtail, it seemed. Bellatrix started to hear a familiar voice among them.

 

“Unhand me at once, I have shown no disloyalty, there is absolutely _no need _to treat me like some kind of criminal!”

 

“Narcissa?” Bellatrix whispered, incredulous. From the look on his face, it was clear Snape hadn't expected this either.

 

“My lord, you cannot surely mean...” Snape breathed. Voldemort smiled.

 

“It is a thin chance, I admit. But the prize is worth it. Wormtail, enter!” he called, getting to his feet. The door opened, and Wormtail strode in, followed by four Death Eaters who were busy trying to get Narcissa Malfoy to do as she was told, never an easy task as Lucius could easily have told them had he still been alive. Having finally reached their destination, they flung her at the Dark Lord's feet.

 

Slowly, Narcissa looked up, her earlier fury giving way before the Dark Lord's gaze. Accustomed to getting her own way she might be, but she had never been a fool.

 

“My lord?” she asked, eyes darting to Snape and Bellatrix. “Is something wrong? I would gladly have come at your summons, there was no need to send force...”

 

“My apologies, Narcissa, it appears my followers have been a little heavy-handed in carrying out their duties. Rest assured they shall be suitably punished. Narcissa, I am afraid I have some grievous news for you regarding your son. I assume Bellatrix has told you that the Red Book is rewriting itself with events in Arda.”

 

Narcissa nodded, her face growing pale. “My lord, is he alright? I mean, he is not...”

 

“He lives. For now. But it appears he has forsaken our cause. He has found a way to rid himself of his Mark and the last words the book records him saying are, it appears, 'Death to Dark Lords'.”

 

A muscle in Narcissa's cheek twitched, the one Bellatrix remembered as signifying that Narcissa was desperately attempting to keep from laughing. Interesting indeed.

 

“Narcissa, do you not believe me?” Voldemort's voice almost purred. Narcissa's cheek stopped moving.

 

“I... it does not sound terribly like him,” said Narcissa, choosing her words carefully.

 

“Oh, but it is true, Narcissa,” Voldemort assured her. He handed her the book, opening it to the section in question. “Here, read for yourself.”

 

Narcissa took it from him and started to read it. As she did so, Voldemort circled behind her, glancing over her, and as he reached inside his robes for his wand, both Bellatrix and Snape realised what he meant to do.

 

“My lord, no, use mine!” Bellatrix cried. Too late. Voldemort lifted his wand and struck. The curse passed into Narcissa's back, through her chest and out the other side, burning a hole in the floor. Blood poured from her and on to the book. Narcissa's eyes widened, and she stared stupefied at the blood before her eyes closed and she fainted.

 

“Sister, no!” Bellatrix cried, her hand to her mouth. Snape barely reacted at all, just staring at the dying woman in front of him. Voldemort stood still, watching the book. Nothing happened.

 

“I did not think it would work,” Voldemort sighed. “Bella, clearly your copy is defective. It must be the copy at Hogwarts that is magical in itself. I shall have to give thought on how best to acquire it. Wormtail, come with me. Bella, Severus, clean up in here, will you?” With that, he swept out, leaving Bellatrix and Severus kneeling at the stricken Narcissa's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did warn you it was dark! If it's any consolation, I'll probably be getting the next chapter out soonish, so not long to wait to find out if Narcissa lives or not.
> 
> Also I couldn't decide whether to follow the books and have Glorfindel meet them on the Road, or the movies and have Arwen do it. Then I recalled they'd need to get two wizards on horseback, Harry the Ringbearer and Draco in need of urgent medical attention, so would likely need two horses. Hence a compromise arrangement by which both Arwen and Glorfindel turn up.
> 
> Ada = Sindarin for father. Arwen's basically seen Elrond and is calling for her dad to get over there and help her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa's life and allegiances are both in the balance, and only one is being pushed in a direction she's pleased with. Pansy's allegiances are also shifting, and Ron's not as pleased as you might think with the outcome. Meanwhile in Middle Earth, the children are making the most of Elven hospitality - Draco's up and about and making new friends, Luna's doing some networking of her own, and Hermione meets a new arrival at the feast, a man from Gondor named Boromir...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cheated a bit and rewrote the earlier bit in which the Invisibility Cloak came to Middle Earth. Now it doesn't - it got left behind at Hogwarts. The kids didn't need it to get to Rivendell, they're unlikely to need it there or while with the Fellowship, and once they reach Lorien, they'll get cloaks from Galadriel that do much the same thing. So it's back at Hogwarts, and Ron's looking after it and the Map.
> 
> Incidentally, if you want updates on this and you're not an AO3 member, feel free to add me on LJ, DW or Twitter; name's ms_katonic on all three. :)

“Severus, do something,” Bellatrix whispered, cradling her dying sister's head in her hand. “Please, there must be something.” She resolutely tried to ignore the spreading pool of blood beneath her. _Pure blood. Black blood. Wasted._

 

“Narcissa was always the more skilled of the two of us at this sort of thing,” Severus replied, kneeling at Narcissa's side. It was true; both during this war and the last, it had invariably been down to Narcissa and him to deal with the injuries and hexes that could not have been taken to St. Mungo's... and Narcissa had been a veritable genius at repairing what others would have sworn could not have been repaired, despite never having taken healing training in her life. Her studies in the Dark Arts, however, had not been lacking, and in particular the study of Fleshcrafting and Bonecrafting had come naturally to her. How ironic that she was the one now bleeding out on the floor.

 

Severus, however, had spent enough time working alongside her to learn a thing or two, and he was damned if he'd see one of his closest friends die like this. First, a Bodybind to stop the blood loss and preserve body tissue. And now a slow partial peelback of the hex to allow him to operate. Reaching for both sides of the gaping hole in her abdomen, he set to work.

 

It took hours, reconnecting tissues, repairing muscles, regrowing nerves, healing damaged organs. But as the first signs of a new day made themselves known in the East, Severus finally sealed the skin on both sides and sat back.

 

“It is done,” he said. Bellatrix fell back, relieved.

 

“Will she live?” she asked. Severus nodded.

 

“I think so. But she cannot go back to the Manor, not now. Better that Voldemort thinks her dead. Bellatrix... I'll need to take her away. I can find a safe haven for her, but I won't be able to tell you or anyone else where it is. You probably won't see her again.”

 

Bellatrix nodded, eyes closed. She kissed Narcissa's unconscious form on the cheek.

 

“Farewell, _nethig. _Be safe; I will see you again, one day, I promise.” A last parting squeeze of her sister's hand, and Bellatrix got to her feet, all emotion hidden.

 

“Take her away and keep her safe, Severus.” With that, she was gone, leaving Narcissa lying in Severus's arms.

 

“Well, Narcissa,” Severus murmured as he wrapped a cloak around her and Levitated her in preparation to Apparate her, “it appears your allegiances have been decided for you.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Slowly, Narcissa opened her eyes. Tired, she was so tired this morning and she didn't even think she'd been up that late. She'd been preparing to retire to bed at around half past nine – ridiculously early by her standards, but it was hardly as if social invitations were pouring in for a disgraced Death Eater's widow after all – and without Lucius, what was the point of going anywhere anyway?

 

Then it all came back to her – Wormtail and friends arriving and insisting she come with them. Being told her son had deserted the Dark Lord's cause and reading for herself – that had made her smile inside; while she could question her son's choice of company, she could hardly fault his spirit - and then nothing but pain and blood and blessed unconsciousness.

 

She was not dead, it seemed. Exhausted, but not dead. She ran a hand over her abdomen, fearing what she might find. Torn, blood-stained clothing – she was still in the same dress then – but beneath, unbroken, unscarred skin. She wasn't even in any pain, although she also didn't feel like moving anywhere any time soon. Still, it was far better than she'd hoped for.

 

“Thank you, Severus,” she whispered, knowing full well who must have healed her. He must have seen her home and treated her – either her injuries weren't that bad, or perhaps the Dark Lord didn't want her dead just yet. She opened her eyes, intent on summoning her house elf to bring breakfast.

 

It was immediately apparent that she was not home. She was fairly certain that no room in Malfoy Manor had the face of Harry Potter, various Weasleys, a Longbottom and that Granger girl painted on the ceiling, all labelled 'friends'. It was equally apparent from the odd books, bizarre clothes and jewellery and copies of the _Quibbler_ that this small wooden room belonged to no one Narcissa could possibly know socially. Narcissa pursed her lips, concentrating. No real evidence of much Muggle culture around, and no sensation of those horrid electronics either, which meant this was at least a wizarding house. The make-up and jewellery on the dressing table indicated this room's usual occupant was definitely female and probably young, probably Hogwarts-age which explained why the bed had been vacant and Narcissa given the room. Given the pictures on the ceiling, she must be a friend of Potter's – but all the friends of Potter's Narcissa knew of were in that mural, and she didn't think the artist had included herself. A mystery – and the mystery only increased as Narcissa's eyes were drawn to a branch of the mural trailing into the corner of the room and curling around another figure, a figure she instantly recognised as Draco. It was labelled with one word – 'Lonely'.

 

Narcissa was fairly sure that Draco and Potter had no friends in common, and she was equally sure her son had, until this year at least, been popular and well-liked in Slytherin, if not outside it. Lonely?

 

“My son has a stalker and I'm in her bedroom,” Narcissa whispered, realisation dawning. “Could things get any worse?”

 

Footsteps echoed outside and the door opened, the smiling figure of Xenophilus Lovegood waking in.

 

“Hello there!” he said cheerfully. “Would you like some breakfast? Except it's three in the afternoon, so it's not really breakfast, and normally it's unlucky to call a meal that after eleven, it's been linked with the development of Gamgee's Disease. But it is your first meal of the day, and I've got some radish tea available and that should counteract any symptoms. Would you like me to make you some toast?”

 

Narcissa sank back on to the pillows. Apparently the answer to that was yes. Evidently she had died after all and this was in fact Hell. It was the only rational explanation. Although she wouldn't expect a demon to be offering her toast...

 

“Where am I and how did I get here?” she asked.

 

It turned out Xenophilus had little more to tell her than she could already have worked out – she was in his house, in his daughter's bedroom, likely to be vacant for some time due to his daughter's absence. After healing her, Severus had taken her to Hogwarts and presented her at the hospital wing there, where she'd been whisked into a private room, checked over, and then the Headmaster, who apparently was leader of the not-entirely-secret anti-Voldemort resistance, had ordered her removed to a safe house. This apparently was it.

 

“You and I are here under a Fidelius Charm and Dumbledore's our Secret Keeper,” Xenophilus had told her over bacon and eggs and sausage and toast – say what you will about the man, Narcissa couldn't fault his cooking. “He sent you to me because he thought that as we both had children in Middle Earth at present, we might enjoy each other's company.”

 

Narcissa privately thought she'd prefer having her teeth pulled but decided it would be a bit rude to say so in the man's own house. They'd left her wand with her, it would be no difficulty to stun him while his back was turned and flee back to... well, that was it, wasn't it? She could hardly go back to the Manor now, and Severus must have known this. The Dark Lord had tried to kill her, and either he thought she was dead, or more likely didn't care if she lived or not. What she did know was that her son was regarded as a traitor and she was now essentially expendable. Not only that, the Dark Lord had tried to use her to go to Middle Earth himself, probably to exact revenge on Draco initially... but if he could get his hands on Sauron's One Ring, who knew what he could do? No, Narcissa couldn't risk that happening. It wasn't safe for her to return home, not for her, not for Draco, not for anyone. With nowhere else to run to, it looked like she was stuck here.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Someone having similar feelings was Pansy Parkinson. She could hardly say she liked the present state of affairs, but what choice did she have? She couldn't bring Draco back, after all, although Calenlass and Snape were being surprisingly kind and letting her read from the Red Book when it updated. She'd been as scared as anyone when the Nazgul stabbed him, but he'd made it to Rivendell and that Elrond seemed to have cured him, so that was something. That he'd apparently given up working for Voldemort was less comforting, and the seeming recent disappearance of Narcissa Malfoy wasn't a good sign either. It was all very unnerving, and Pansy did not like being unnerved. However, there wasn't a great deal she could really do about it all, and she was fortunate in one respect – her family were not Death Eaters and while she had previously regarded the Dark Lord's victory as inevitable, and something she could benefit from if it occurred, she wasn't wedded to it happening either. Which did mean that if the status quo changed, Pansy had no problem changing with it, and now Draco wasn't working for Voldemort any more, there was nothing really holding her there either.

 

Which is why she ambushed Ron Weasley after Potions one Thursday afternoon.

 

“Weasley, I need to talk with you.” Ignoring his protests, she steered him into a nearby empty classroom, closing the door and warding it shut.

 

“What are you doing?” Ron hissed. “Let me go, will you?” He wrenched his arm from her grasp.

 

“Don't-” Pansy began. “Weasley, I need your help!”

 

“What could you possibly need me for?” Ron asked, practically spitting contempt. Well, she'd expected no less.

 

“There's rumours in Slytherin that Potter's got some sort of Cloak of Invisibility,” Pansy said, carefully watching Ron's reaction. Sure enough, Ron had stiffened a fraction, confirming her suspicions.

 

“As I thought,” she said, dancing inside. “Did it go to Middle Earth with him, or is it still here?”

 

“None of your business,” Ron scowled. “That's assuming he had a cloak like that. Which he didn't. Probably.”

 

Pansy laughed. “You're a terrible liar, Weasley. So is the Cloak here or not?”

 

“Why'd you want to know?” said Ron, folding his arms and going on the defensive. “Not like I'm lending it to you.”

 

“So it does exist and it is here,” said Pansy, grinning. “Excellent. Don't worry, I don't want you to lend it to _me_.”

 

Ron mentally kicked himself for having been so completely wrongfooted. Bloody Slytherins. Not for the first time, he wished Harry or Hermione were here. He couldn't see either of them having been quite so easily fooled. However, he wasn't as dim as people sometimes took him for either, and he'd guessed the meaning in Pansy's last sentence.

 

“So who do you want me to lend it to then?”

 

Pansy didn't answer immediately. “Perhaps it'll help if I tell you why first,” she said softly. Ron nodded.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, you do that,” said Ron, sitting on a nearby desk and pulling up a chair to rest his feet on. “It had better be good.”

 

Pansy climbed on to the desk opposite and made herself comfortable.

 

“With Draco gone, it's left a bit of a power vacuum in Slytherin, particularly among those whose families support the Dark Lord.”

 

Ron snorted. “And this is my problem how?”

 

“Well, Draco's closest friends were me and Blaise Zabini, and neither of us are in that faction. Effectively, we're out of that particular game now. Among those who remain, the most senior aside from a couple of seventh years, who are all too busy with NEWTs to care about social politics, would be Theodore Nott, who's in our year. Crabbe and Goyle, in Draco's absence, have attached themselves to him. They're calling him boss now.”

 

“And this means?” Ron had never been the best at figuring out Slytherin house politics and ramifications thereof – wasn't that what he had Hermione for? Except he didn't any more, which meant he'd have to do his own thinking for once. He was out of practice and it showed.

 

“Draco had a mission from the Dark Lord,” said Pansy softly. “He wouldn't tell me what it was, except that it was important and dangerous. I think it involved Hogwarts somehow, securing it for the Dark Lord in some way. That's why he wanted the Red Book, he wanted its power. He wasn't certain of success without it.”

 

“Well, he certainly isn't now, he's not even here,” said Ron. “I bet that wasn't in the plan – oh.” Ron's brain might not be used to figuring these things out, but it got there eventually. “You think... you think the Dark Lord's realised Draco's not coming back and recruited Nott to carry it out instead.”

 

Pansy nodded, no longer smug or mocking. Ron, having realised this much, had little difficulty working the rest of it out.

 

“And that's why you want the cloak, you know there's a plot brewing but you don't have a way of finding out what it is any more and a cloak of invisibility is the only way of following Nott around to find out.” Pansy nodded again, confirming this was the truth. Ron's mind went on a little further... and then exploded with rage.

 

“Forget it!” Ron snapped, pushing himself off the desk and drawing his wand on her. “Forget it, Parkinson, I am  _ not _ helping you help Nott to take over the school so bloody Voldemort can have it! What do you think I am, some kind of idiot? Tell Nott from me that he can take your stupid cause and shove it-”

 

“It is not my cause!” Pansy shouted, leaping to the floor in turn. “If it was my cause, I wouldn't be sitting here telling you I wanted to find out what he was up to, I would just have bloody well  _ asked _ him!!”

 

Ron had to admit there was some logic to this. But...

 

“How do I know this isn't some cunning plot to get hold of the Cloak so you can give it to him?” he asked. Pansy grimaced.

 

“Why would I want to help Nott? He's a misogynistic arsehole who keeps trying to grope me in the corridor. As if taking over Draco's mission means he can take me over as well.” She shuddered at the thought.

 

Ron slowly lowered his wand, this genuinely not having occurred to him before. “You mean... you went along with Draco being a Death Eater because you liked him... but now he's gone and there's a new leader of the Voldemort Youth, you're prepared to sell the whole lot down the river because you don't like the new guy?”

 

Pansy nodded, actually seeming confused that anyone would think this was odd. “Of course! Why would I go along with someone I hated?”

 

“You're talking to me,” Ron pointed out. Pansy had the grace to blush a little at this, staring at her feet.

 

“I don't hate you, I just didn't really think much of you. You've not really done anything to directly hurt me, after all. Not like you leer at me and make crude gestures every time I see you, is it?”

 

For the first time ever, Ron felt himself feeling sorry for Pansy Parkinson. “Would you like me to hex him for you? I learnt a few things off the twins...”

 

Pansy couldn't help but smile at this. “Thank you,” she said, finding that she genuinely meant it. “Don't worry though, Blaise is looking out for me, Nott won't try anything. But if you want to help, my original request still stands – we'll need the cloak.”

 

“And so does my original question,” said Ron, but he was curious rather than angry now. “What's your plan, Pansy? I want to know what I'm getting myself into.”

 

Grinning, Pansy told him what she had in mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Draco finally stirred, finally returning to wakefulness. Such strange dreams he'd had, about a book and a portal and wraiths and a ring and a journey through the wilderness and elves and riders, and being cold, so very cold, for most of it. But he was in bed and warm again, and he could feel the sunlight pouring in through the window. It was all over and he was safe at last. Safe in the sunlight... wait. The Slytherin dorms didn't **have** sunlight.

 

Draco's eyes shot open. The room could have been in Hogsmeade, with the wooden beams and the floorboards and white walls. Could have been... but wasn't. The waterfall he could hear in the distance was proof enough of that.

 

“Where am I?” Draco asked, not seriously expecting an answer. Of course, inside he already knew the answer. Everything came rushing back, and he realised this must be Rivendell.

 

“Good, you're awake.” The voice wasn't one Draco had ever heard before, and yet he couldn't help but be reminded of a friendlier version of Snape, with the same accent as Arwen. Which, there was no other word for it, was simply _weird_. “How's the shoulder?”

 

Draco turned to see the speaker sitting at his left. Grey-robed, long-dark hair braided at the front, dark eyes and sharp features not unlike Snape's but cleaner and gentler somehow... oh, and pointy ears. Who could miss the pointy ears?

 

“You're an Elf too,” said Draco, wincing as he heard the words come out of his mouth. “Like Arwen and Glorfindel.”

 

The Elf laughed. “Correct, _tithen-pen_, very much like Arwen in fact, as she is my daughter. I am Elrond, Lord of Imladris, that is called Rivendell in your tongue.” Elrond stopped there, recalling something. “At least, Rivendell in the tongue of the Edain of this world. I know your own tongue is very much different and it is only thanks to strong magic we can understand each other at all. Don't look so shocked, Draco, in between tending to you, Mithrandir and I have been having long and informative conversations with your friends. Lady Hermione and Lady Luna in particular were most helpful, and I feel I know most of your story and what brought you here.”

 

“Oh,” was all Draco could say, his heart sinking. Great, now everyone knew he'd served an evil wizard. He could only imagine what Harry and Ginny in particular might have been saying, and he couldn't see Hermione being much better. To his surprise, Elrond actually smiled.

 

“Fear not, young Draco. I'm not about to condemn you as a servant of the Darkness and throw you out for the Wargs. Much of what I am told seems to be little more than childhood rivalry, and even the more serious affairs are more crimes of folly than evil. It is clear to me that while grieving from the premature loss of your father, you were manipulated by your elders, some of whom truly do seem steeped in evil, into making some very rash decisions. You are not beyond redemption, Draco son of Lucius – your actions by Bruinen proved that. Arwen tells me your magic saved her life.”

 

“Her healing magic saved mine first – I don't think I'd have made the Fords without her,” said Draco, strangely unwilling to claim the life debt. He'd been under attack too, it had hardly been altruistic... and if Arwen died before Eldarion was born, he wouldn't exist anyway.

 

“Perhaps,” Elrond shrugged. “But the son of James told me of your words by Bruinen – that you swore death to all Dark Lords and, believing yourself dying, wanted only for him to return home and make sure your widowed mother was safe.”

 

Draco couldn't look at Elrond in that moment. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of family and home right now. He could feel the tears welling up, missing his mother horribly and hating himself for not being able to hide it. Elrond placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Draco, my heart tells me she is safe. Foresight is not a reliable tool, I must admit, but nevertheless I feel she is protected. More than that, I cannot say – I do not know her, after all. But what more does one need to know?”

 

Elrond did have a point, Draco had to concede, and yet that didn't stop him missing her. “She's the only family I've got left,” Draco whispered.

 

Elrond reached over and gently tilted Draco's face so he couldn't avoid looking at him any longer. “If what Arwen tells me is true, then you are of the line of Luthien, as am I, as are my children, as is Aragorn. And it is not just you – Mithrandir has examined the magic you five bear quite closely and it can only have come from descent from one of the Maiar. The only Maia to have borne any child on Middle Earth is Luthien Tinuviel's mother, Melian. Therefore you are all of you descended from her, however distantly.”

 

“What, even Granger?” The words were out before Draco could stop himself.

 

“Even Hermione. Draco, many Ages lie between your time and this – the blood of the Maiar has dispersed quite widely, it would seem.” Elrond raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

 

Draco put his hand to his head, feeling everything he'd ever been taught was true crumble to dust before his eyes. _We are all Mudbloods, every single witch or wizard alive. The pure source isn't even human, and from the sounds of it, Luthien was an Elf rather than a Maia like her mother, so that's one mixed marriage right there. Everything my family ever taught me about blood purity is a lie!_

 

“No, everything's fine, I'm just finding out that my entire worldview's a lie and my mother's family motto should be _Toujours Mongrelus _for all the good it's done us,” Draco snapped. “How the hell do I face them all now? 'Sorry I've been such a prick for the last five years, it turns out you lot were right and Muggleborns are as good as any pureblood, who's up for killing a Dark Lord then?' I can see that going down well.”

 

“Do not underestimate them,” said Elrond. “They are better people than you think. And if killing a Dark Lord is your objective, we could use the help.”

 

“Oh no,” said Draco. “Oh no no no! I am not volunteering for any quests! I am going to find a way home, find my mum, empty our bank vaults and flee the country. You want a Dark Lord killing, Potter is the one to ask, that's what he does.”

 

“As you wish,” said Elrond, getting to his feet. “You may stay here until the next party of Elves leaves here for the Havens, at which point you will leave with them and take ship over the Sea, and the Valar will find you a way home. Until then, my home is your home. _Mae govannen, ion-nin, Draco Malfea Lucion.” _He made Draco a formal bow and swept out of the room.

 

If Draco had hoped for peace after that conversation, he was wrong. Elrond had no sooner left than the door opened and Luna burst in.

 

“Draco, you're awake!” she cried. Before Draco could object, she'd raced over and hugged him. He could barely manage a whimper in response. She released him and sat back, perched on the edge of the bed looking positively gleeful.

 

“Yes, I'm awake,” said Draco. “And wishing I wasn't. Still, it's not all bad news. I appear to be healthy, Elrond seems to like me, and even better, he says he can arrange a method of getting me home. Who knows, it may even be soon. Anyway, your mission's worked, I'm a changed wizard free of Dark Magic, so I'll be off home to rescue Mother and start a new life in California. Thanks for everything, Lovegood, and good luck with the others.”

 

His optimism didn't last. Luna was frowning at him.

 

“No, no, Draco, you can't go home just yet. The quest hasn't even got under way. Don't you want to stay for the interesting bit?”

 

Draco moaned and slid under the blankets. “No! No, I do not! Also, being stabbed by a cursed blade and fighting for my life while being dragged across country and nearly dying? Interesting enough, thank you!”

 

Luna rolled her eyes. “You would say that. Honestly, Draco, why Calenlass thought you'd make a good hero is beyond me.”

 

“I'm not a hero!” Draco shouted from underneath the blankets. “I told Elrond and I'll tell you – Potter is the hero, go and find _him_!”

 

“Fine,” Luna sniffed, sliding off the bed and heading for the door. “But I'm telling you, Draco, you've got a role to play here too. You just don't know it yet.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Even Draco could not stay in bed all day, and an hour or so later, hunger drove him out. It was a strange sensation – for weeks he'd barely been able to remember what hunger even was, and now here he was, ravenous and desperate to remind himself he was human. Clothes in the form of a tunic and leggings in dark green had been left out for him, and Draco was surprised to find they fit perfectly. Had someone measured him in his sleep? Draco shuddered at the thought.

 

He wandered lost for a while until finally thinking to ask directions from a passing Elven maidservant, who immediately berated him for not having pulled the bell-pull by the bed, someone would have brought him a meal in his room if he'd asked, and what _Hir-Nin_ Elrond would say to see the _tithen-Istar _up and about so soon after being brought here in such a state, she couldn't even begin to think. However, Draco did get escorted to the kitchens and served a breakfast such as he'd not had since leaving Hogwarts; in fact Draco would go so far as to say it surpassed most Hogwarts breakfasts.

 

“So what's there for a young wizard to do around here?” Draco asked the elleth who'd brought him there. By this time, Draco had learnt that she was actually Elrond's formidable Chief Housekeeper and went by the name of Silanen, or bright water as it was in the tongue of the Edain, which turned out to be Elvish for human.

 

“For you at least, the answer is resting and getting your strength back, young Malfea,” Silanen replied, arms folded.

 

“I told you, I'm fine,” said Draco tetchily. He wasn't used to domestic staff who couldn't be ordered to iron their own hands as a punishment if they got above themselves. Something told him that trying that with this particular Elf would end very badly for all concerned.

 

“Well, you made it this far without collapsing, and you look better for having eaten,” Silanen admitted. “Even so, you are only Edain, not Maia or Eldar. Your kind must take more care of themselves!”

 

_Spare me,_ Draco thought. Gods, but this woman – elleth, he recalled Luna telling him the term was – could give his mother a run for her money in the lecturing stakes. Time for a subject change – and he did have a question, now he thought about it.

 

“Elrond called me Draco Malfea Lucion earlier, and you called me Malfea just now. Can I ask what it means? My name's actually Malfoy.”

 

Silanen waved her had dismissively. “Ach, what sort of family name is that for an Istar? Malfa-, Malfia-, Malfui-, you see what I mean, it means nothing in our tongue and we cannot even pronounce it. Malfea, on the other hand, sounds much better. It means 'Golden Spirit' – mal is gold, and your fea is your soul, so Malfea, you see? As for Lucion, I do not know the word, but as ion means son or male descendant, I imagine it refers to you being descended from someone named something like Lucien?”

 

“Lucius,” said Draco, a sudden lump in his throat. “My father.” He looked away, a wave of homesickness and grief crashing into him at once. Of course he couldn't avenge him now or ever. The cause was a lie, everything was a lie, and his once proud, handsome father had died for nothing, died an ignoble death in a cell in Azkaban.

 

_I will not cry. Not here, not now, not in a kitchen in front of a full-blooded Elf, I am a Malfoy, the only Malfoy, I am Draco son of Lucius, I will not cry!_

 

Silanen had moved away, and he heard her pouring a drink. Her skirts rustled and then a small glass the size of a thimble had been pushed in front of him.

 

“Miruvor,” he heard her say, and her voice was much kinder now. “The pain never entirely goes away, but it gets easier to bear. My own ada was killed in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad when I was barely more than an elfling, and I think my nana would have faded and followed him had she not needed to care for me. As it is, I will see him again one day in Valinor – I cannot even begin to think what your own grief must be like. You Edain, you have the strongest hearts of any race I know.”

 

Draco swallowed the miruvor – it was barely more than a mouthful, but he felt its warmth filling him from inside. With it, the pain eased and he felt the tears subside, bringing in their wake the feeling that all would be well, that he would find his way home somehow. He looked up to see Silanen smiling sadly at him, tears on her own cheeks.

 

“Elves do not forget,” she told him. “Never, no matter how many centuries pass by, we still remember the pain, the grief. It is the curse of immortality. You Edain, you are fortunate to be able to forget.”

 

“I don't feel lucky,” Draco answered, his voice still a little shaky. Silanen smiled, getting to her feet.

 

“You are young and healthy and alive, and your life lies ahead of you. What more do you need?” She turned away, heading for the door to continue on whatever errand Draco had interrupted. “Come, the sun is out and you might find your friends in the southern courtyard – the sons of Elrond and their sister are keeping them company, along with young Estel.”

 

“Estel?” Something in Silanen's tone indicated that he was expected to know who Estel was.

 

“Aragorn, son of Arathorn as his right name is. But he was called Estel when he was growing up here, and Estel he will always be to us.”

 

“How many names does he need?” Draco asked, following her out.

 

“He is an exceptional man, Draco Malfea,” said Silanen. “Isildur's heir has a long road ahead of him, and a long road behind. He has been to many places and seen many things; why should he be known as the same to all?” She turned and pointed down the corridor. “There, the courtyard is that way. Keep walking until you reach the walkway – you will hear them before you see them, if the Elrondionath are still there.”

 

So saying, she bade him good day and left, leaving Draco little option but to seek out the others.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sure enough, he heard the laughing and giggling before he saw them, accompanied by the incongruous sound of swordfighting. Standing in the shadowed archway that opened on to a courtyard bathed in winter sunlight, the first thing he saw was Ginny and Harry chasing after each other with swords in hand. As he watched, their blades clashed and Ginny deftly flicked Harry's blade out of his hand, sending it skittering across the courtyard.

 

“Mercy!” Harry laughed, holding up his hands in surrender.

 

“Do you yield?” Ginny demanded, holding the point of her sword to his chest. Harry nodded.

 

“Yes, I yield, you win!”

 

Ginny squealed with delight, holding her sword above her head as she danced around the fountain in the centre of the courtyard.

 

“Victorious am I!” she crowed, drawing an eye-roll from Harry, who shared a knowing glance with Aragorn, seated on a nearby bench with his arm around Arwen. Draco had to look twice to be sure he actually recognised them both, particularly Aragorn. He'd never seen the man with clean hair and combed beard before, and certainly not dressed in fine velvet Elven clothes in blue and gold. Arwen too was resplendent in a deep red dress that was far more the sort of thing Draco had expected an Elven princess to wear. On another nearby bench, Hermione and Luna were also now wearing dresses similar to Arwen's, and amazingly, someone had actually managed to do something about Granger's hair. It wasn't exactly straight, but it did look far better than it ever had before. Even Luna looked more presentable than usual, although in her case not even Elven fashion sense not could make her look any less like Luna. Yes, she was wearing Elven-crafted silver earrings, but Draco suspected the Elven smith responsible had never before made any that looked like carrots. The crown of branches and autumn leaves, and the necklace made of a silver chain with painted corks threaded on it topped the picture off nicely. Oh, and she'd had braids tied with a variety of coloured ribbons tied in her air. _Oh Lovegood. Never change, _Draco caught himself thinking, and then wondered why he was pleased to see her sitting amongst Elven princesses and human princes and witches and wizards doing their best to look like the above, still looking so very much herself. It was an odd feeling but he didn't have much chance to analyse it further. Arwen glanced up, smiled at him as he stepped into the courtyard, and then her expression turned to alarm. He didn't even have time to ask what was wrong before two shapes landed next to him, slapping him on the back so hard he nearly fell over.

 

“_Uruloki!_” two male voices cried out, the singsong accent marking them out as Elves rather than human.

 

“He's alive!” cried the one on his left. Draco looked up to see a younger version of Elrond, if Elrond had ever been seen grinning like a maniac, which Draco doubted.

 

“He wakes!” cried the other one, and Draco's heart sank to see the double of the first grinning down at him. “Our heroic new _gwador_ awakes!”

 

“Took a Morgul-blade for his friends!”

 

“Had to be carried miles through the wilds on a humble pack-pony for his trouble!”

 

“Collapsing dramatically and having to be resuscitated by our fair sister!”

 

“And then seeing a Nazgul off with only the power of his mind before passing out on our shores, where only Ada's skill could save him.” Both twins bowed low, in a manner which could have been respectful... but clearly wasn't.

 

“Welcome to Imladris, Uruloki Malfea Lucion, mighty descendant of our lovely sister...” The Elf paused. “And of Estel too, I suppose, although frankly I have my doubts there.”

 

“Yes,” deadpanned the other one, “you're far prettier than he is!”

 

Only Elven reflexes saved the Elf from being hit by the applecore Aragorn aimed at his head. Draco felt himself going pink as he heard the others laughing. _New leaf,_ he told himself, _new leaf, it would be bad form to hex them all and ruin it so soon._

 

“I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your names,” he said coldly. Both twins gasped in mock horror.

 

“We've not introduced ourselves!”

 

“How rude!” They both turned to face him again, fixed grins still in place.

 

“I'm Elladan.”

 

“And I Elrohir. We're brothers. Twins, you know!”

 

“Are you really,” said Draco. “I would never have guessed.”

 

“_Muindorath,_ stop teasing him, the poor boy's only just got up.” Arwen had hitched up her skirts and moved over to join them. “Hello Draco, how are you feeling?”

 

Arwen's smile had a way of defusing even the tensest situation. Despite himself, Draco found himself relaxing.

 

“Much better, my lady. Thank you, I do not think I would have made it this far without you or your father.” He bowed to her, remembering his manners. Arwen laughed.

 

“Oh Draco, there is no need to bow, I do not think I could have fought off the Nine without you either. Truly, it is good to see you up and about again. You have been asleep for five days; we were all very worried.” She caught the scepticism in Draco's eyes. “Do not look like that, son of Lucius, even Ginny and Harry were asking after you.”

 

Draco glanced over at the two of them, surprised to find neither could quite meet his eyes. Well. That was novel, either of them giving a toss. He looked over at Aragorn, surprised to see a quite genuine smile on the Ranger's face.

 

“Well met, young Draco, it is good to see you healthy again,” said Aragorn. “Truly, I think I have seen more of you stricken than I have hale.”

 

Draco laughed nervously. “Well, I'll have to make sure that gets remedied, won't I?”, he said, and then promptly kicked himself for implying he actually wanted to stay here longer than could possibly be helped. He noticed the grin on Luna's face and grimaced. _No, no quests, no adventures, just a holiday in Rivendell, then a trip across country with Elven bodyguards, a bracing sea voyage and then home via Valinor. Easy._

 

Easier said than done, of course, but he brushed the sense of foreboding away and turned to face Harry. Now, this was going to be awkward.

 

“Potter. Weasley.”

 

“Malfoy,” said Harry cautiously, but without the hostility Draco was used to.

 

Draco hesitated. Now what? If Potter or Weasley expected an apology for everything, they both were doomed to disappointment. However, if they really had apparently started giving a toss, the least he could do was show some gratitude.

 

“Arwen says you were asking after me. If that is so, then thank you.”

 

“No problem,” said Harry, after a brief pause. The silence seemed to stretch on for aeons before Draco looked at Harry properly and noticed what the hand not holding an Elven training sword was doing. It was clutching the front of his tunic, clutching around the heart area, round about where you'd expect a small, heavy object to be if worn on a chain around the neck. A Ring, for example. And then Draco realised what Harry was looking so worried about.

 

“Oh for the Valar's sake, Potter, I don't want the Ring! You can keep the little deathtrap for all I care, I've been stabbed because of it once, I've no intention of it happening again.”

 

Harry let go of it immediately, the guilt on his face obvious. “I... that's good. I mean, great. Not the stabbing obviously, but great that you're not plotting world domination any more.”

 

_Certainly not with the One Ring at any rate,_ came the thought unbidden, but Draco wisely decided this was best kept to himself. 

 

“Anyway, I should be going,” Harry stammered. “I have to talk to Gandalf about something. I'll probably see you at the feast tonight.”

 

Draco nodded an acknowledgement and watched him go, Ginny deciding to go with him, and Elladan and Elrohir making their excuses and leaving as well. Draco looked up to where Hermione and Luna had been watching, and noticed Hermione getting up to leave too.

 

“Granger, wait.”

 

To her credit, she stopped.

 

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Just wanted to say thank you. You know, for getting me here at all. I think I might have gone under sooner if you and Luna and Aragorn hadn't looked after me. Thank you – you didn't have to do that.”

 

“I know,” said Hermione calmly. “But I'm not you, Malfoy and I didn't want a death on my hands. Not even yours.”

 

Draco flushed at that, but the brief flicker of anger subsided as he remembered he'd hardly given her any reason to think well of him.

 

“Well, thank you anyway,” said Draco, gritting his teeth. “And while I'm here... I owe you an apology.”

 

That did get her attention. “An apology? For what, exactly?”

 

“Calling you a Mudblood all those times,” said Draco, hoping the wincing wasn't too obvious. “It was wrong and stupid. According to Elrond, all our magic's the same, and it's that way because apparently every single British witch or wizard, and probably most of those in other countries too, even the Muggle-borns, is descended from Aragorn and Arwen. The Blacks are only special because we bothered to keep records. There you go, Granger. You were right, I was wrong, and everything I was brought up to believe is a lie. Happy?”

 

“No, I-” Hermione stopped, and for a reason strange to Draco, she didn't sound pleased at all, just baffled. Why wasn't she gloating, damn her?

 

“It can't all have been a lie, you did keep records when no one else did,” she finally pointed out, not unkindly. Draco just scowled.

 

“Giving a toss about our roots and being able to write aren't exactly the things elite wizards are made of,” said Draco, suddenly realising that despite all these glorious ancestors he had, not one Black in recent years had ever really done anything truly noteworthy and been idolised for it.

 

“No, but they're not bad things either” said Hermione gently. “Thank you, Draco, I know that can't have been easy for you. I appreciate it.”

 

Draco could feel himself blushing at this point. “Bloody hell, Granger, stop being so noble. Just point and laugh and get it over with.”

 

Hermione smiled and squeezed Draco's shoulder. “Like I said before, I'm not you, Malfoy. Consider yourself forgiven.”

 

Draco mumbled something that may have been thanks, and Hermione took her leave, following in the wake of Harry and Ginny, leaving him with one Elf, one Ranger and Luna.

 

Who wasted no time in running over and giving him a hug.

 

“Draco, that was wonderful, well done!” she cried.

 

“I have to agree,” said Aragorn, patting him on the back while Arwen stood next to him, beaming. “From what Harry has told me, that feud ran deep – that was a great thing you did, rising above it and being civil to one you were raised to despise. Well done, Draco – if my descendant you truly are, I am proud to recognise you as such, and Hermione too for her gracious acceptance.”

 

Draco could feel himself blushing and mumbled a thank you. Arwen laughed.

 

“Estel, my love, you are embarrassing the poor child – he is not yet grown and only lately out of his sick bed besides.” Arwen smiled at him, and Draco could practically feel himself going pink. Damn it, surely he could cope with attractive women smiling at him by now? He wasn't that young or inexperienced, and he liked to think his social skills were better than this.

 

“Fear not, Draco, you, all five of you, are family as far as we're concerned,” Arwen told him. “Ada, my brothers, Estel, me, we are kin to you and you to us. Ada has promised that he'll do all in his power to help you get home.”

 

Draco nodded. “Yeah, he said. Apparently I can stay here until Elves leave for the Havens, then I can go with them to Valinor and the Valar'll get me home.”

 

“That is well,” said Aragorn. “Although we will be sad to see you go, I had hoped to learn more of your world and what my descendants have made of it. But maybe we will all remain in Rivendell for a while yet and we can talk more of these matters.”

 

“Thank you,” said Draco softly, realising that he'd actually quite like getting to know Aragorn better – he'd need to completely revise the family mythology for his own eventual children, and accurate information on the family progenitors would surely help. “I'd like that.”

 

“Then we shall do just that,” Aragorn promised, before his face turned serious. “However, before that, I must tell you that Elrond is holding a council tomorrow on the war with Mordor and what we are to do with the One Ring. While I can promise that we will not draft you into that war without your consent, Lord Elrond and Gandalf would like all five of you to be present at the council, as the Ring is currently in the keeping of one of your number. The others have already agreed to attend; will you do the same?”

 

“I'd really rather n-” Draco began.

 

“You don't have to,” said Arwen. “Neither I nor my brothers are going; we will be quite happy to keep you company instead should you wish it.”

 

“Yes,” said Luna casually, “don't worry about going to the council meeting, Draco. I'm sure Harry, Ginny and Hermione will tell you all about it if you ask them nicely. I'm sure there won't be any problems with them being your main source of information on what's going on.”

 

“What... aren't you going?” Draco demanded. Luna shook her head cheerfully, carrot earrings jingling.

 

“No, not if you're not bothering. I know how it'll probably go anyway, and the others won't need me there. And you said you're not interested in anything other than getting home, so it's not like you'll want to know any of it, so I don't need to go in order to fill you in, do I?” Luna's smile seemed innocent enough. Draco didn't buy it for a second.

 

“So you're telling me that if I don't go, I will have to deal with the other three knowing far more than I do about everything that's happening here, and I'll have to beg them for information if I want to know any of it.”.

 

“You won't,” said Aragorn. “The meeting is to be held under conditions of strictest secrecy, all those present must swear not to reveal the proceedings unless authorised to do so by Elrond or Gandalf. I'm afraid if you would know what is to be discussed, you must attend yourself or remain unknowing.”

 

“Damn it,” Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I swear there is a conspiracy against me and, Lovegood, I am convinced it is all your fault.” Luna's smile never wavered at these words, leading Draco to further believe that he was entirely correct in that assumption.

 

“Alright, I will go,” Draco sighed. “You can tell Elrond I'll be there. But I am not, repeat, _not_ volunteering for anything, especially anything quest-related. Got that, Lovegood?”

 

“Don't worry, Draco, I'm not expecting you to volunteer for anything,” said Luna, still with that irritating know-it-all smile, and her sanguine acceptance worried Draco more than if she'd tried to argue with him. Still, it was too late now.

 

“So I can tell Elrond you'll both be there,” said Aragorn. Draco could only nod, wondering what was in store for him this time.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

First, however, there was a feast to be got out of the way – Elrond had given orders for preparations to be made as soon as Draco had been declared healthy, and as evening fell and the stars rose, Arwen and three of her maidens had cornered Hermione, Ginny and Luna and proceeded to give full Elven makeover.

 

“You really don't need to do this,” Ginny protested weakly, as Arwen ran a silver brush through her hair. “The clothes you've already given us are fine enough.”

 

Arwen shook her head. “That they are not, they are daywear only, they will not do for a feast, is that not right, Niphredil?”

 

“Certainly, _hiril-nin_, we cobbled them together in a hurry when we heard you young _adanyth_ had no clothing fit for a lady,” Niphredil confirmed. She was about 500 years older than Arwen and had been something of an older sister to her for most of her life. “For a feast, you must wear fine clothing, over which many hours of effort and diligence have been spent.”

 

“And,” chimed in Tathariel, only a thousand years old and used to be being somewhat indulged, “you, young Ginevra, have barely been seen in anything other than the leggings and tunics more usually seen on _ellyn_, so we must work even harder to show you off tonight. Ach, _hen_, what do you do to your hair? I have not seen anything so knotted that had not previously been the plaything of a cat.”

 

“I was riding,” Ginny pouted. “Elladan and Elrohir were teaching me how. You try fussing about your hair while galloping by the river at full speed!”

 

Niphredil tutted at the mention of their names. “_Ellyn_,” she muttered as she laced up the back of Hermione's dress. “Absolutely no sense whatsoever. Sensible riding, did it perhaps occur to them to start with that first? No, of course not.”

 

“Where's the fun in that?” Ginny pouted. Arwen and Tathariel laughed, and Hermione could barely suppress a grin at Ginny's reaction to the concept of sensible riding.

 

“Pay no attention to her, Ginny, Niphredil last went on a horse when they had kings in Arnor,” Tathariel grinned. “If we all lived like her, the world would be a dull place indeed. Turn your head to the left so I can pin your hair up – there.”

 

“Valar willing, maybe there will be a king in Arnor again soon,” said Arwen softly. Hermione noticed how even Tathariel stopped laughing at this, and Niphredil's face became even grimmer. Clearly her people were not remotely pleased at the idea of losing Arwen to the mortals, and truth be told, Hermione could not for the life of her work out why even such a man as Aragorn could persuade Arwen to give up everything for love. And yet she had seen the way they looked at each other...

 

On the other side of the room, Luna was having her hair pinned up by Eirien, the youngest and shyest of Arwen's ladies, and the one least fluent in Westron. By a complicated dance involving Luna speaking in Sindarin and filling in the gaps with English, and Eirien, when she spoke at all, using broken Westron with Sindarin bridging the gaps, and the universal language of pointing and gesturing, they had managed to make themselves understood, and Eirien proved happily obliging with regards to unusual requests such as Luna's desire to keep her carrot earrings.

 

“You are... not like.. the others,” said Eirien. “You are more _elleth_ than _adaneth_.”

 

Luna smiled. “When you don't have a fixed idea of what is impossible, you see so much more than others do. It is strange though how they never seem to want you to point it out to them. We have a teacher back home who's an Elf like you, and it's so strange how no one's even noticed the ears.”

 

Eirien nearly dropped the comb she was holding. “There are Eldar in Arda that will be?” she gasped. “In Middle Earth, not the Undying Lands?”

 

“Just him,” said Luna. “And he only came back because Elbereth sent him. He needed to bring the magic that would bring us here.”

 

“Is that so?” said Eirien, losing her shyness as her curiosity grew. “And why are you here then, _Hiril _Isileth?”

 

“To save the world, of course,” said Luna cheerfully. “Oh, and to save Uruloki Malfea from himself.” She used the Elven names that Draco had managed to acquire in less than a day of consciousness.

 

Eirien nodded. “He has the look of one who needs it; but not so much as the boy Hurin. It is easy to fight one's dark side when it threatens to destroy all you love; but what do you do when it is what is good in you that threatens to destroy you?”

 

Harry's name didn't really translate well into Sindarin, so the Elves had taken to calling him Hurin after a famous mortal hero of old.

 

“I think he will be alright,” said Luna calmly. “Ginny will look after him.” They fell silent, and then Arwen's hope that there would be a king again in Arnor floated across the room. Eirien closed her eyes.

 

“Who will take care of her?” Eirien whispered. “Will she not be lonely without us? Estel will be too busy being king to be there all the time, and she will be on her own! How can she face the Doom of Men? She is Eldar!”

 

Luna took Eirien's hand. Truth be told, she didn't really know either... but she had a feeling the Vala who'd made their travel arrangements did.

 

“She will be taken care of,” Luna promised. “That's the third thing we came here to do – we're here to save your princess.”

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Hermione had followed the others as they'd made their way to the feast and watch unsurprised as Ginny made a beeline for Harry, very smartly showing off her outfit and demanding an opinion. Harry went a bit pink and stammered something along the lines of it being very nice, at which Ginny promptly went a little pink herself, before smiling and taking his arm, hauling him off to take two seats left empty with Rivendell Elves on one side and a party of small, heavily armoured bearded men who were greedily consuming ale flagons. Hermione smiled to herself – it seemed being in enforced close quarters with Harry and not really having to worry about trying to impress him due to them all having more pressing matters to worry about had done Ginny's shyness around Harry the world of good.

 

Arwen had taken her high seat halfway down the table, and Aragorn had taken the seat at her right hand side. Her brothers were on her other side, and her ladies had taken a side table along with various other Elves of Elrond's household. Luna had made her way to sit next to a group of Elves still in travelling clothes that were subtly different enough to mark the wearers out as not Rivendell Elves. Where they had come from was another matter entirely, but given that Luna had cheerfully singled out their blond leader (who looked vaguely familiar now Hermione came to think of it) and was now sitting next to him chattering away in Sindarin, she had a feeling they'd find out soon enough.

 

However, this didn't really leave anyone for her to sit next to. Hermione looked up and down the main table, eyeing up the assorted company – Elrond, Gandalf, and various high-ranking Elves of the household including Glorfindel at the high table. Arwen, Aragorn and the twins halfway down the main table. Luna and the stranger Elves towards the end of the high table, and Harry, Ginny and the hard drinking mini-Vikings opposite them. The rest of the table was taken up by various Elves she'd seen around the house in the last few days... except for one man sitting on his own, who was wearing garments that had clearly been extremely fine when new, but had evidently seen hard usage since then. He was also human, probably in his late thirties or early forties if Hermione had to guess, and looking distinctly ill at ease surrounded by Elves. The seat next to him was empty and Hermione wasted no time in taking it.

 

The human warrior glanced up, and his eyebrows shot up to see a human woman sitting next to him. Hermione looked him up and down with a smile – a bit old for her tastes, but still not unattractive, with shoulder-length light-brown hair, blue eyes and a well-groomed goatee beard.

 

“Hello, mind if I sit here?” she asked, hoping her nerves weren't obvious. It wasn't often she made a habit of approaching strange men old enough to be her father, after all.

 

“Not at all,” came the reply. “I would welcome the company of another of the race of Men, were he the least amongst mortals; to have it be a lady as fair as yourself is a most unexpected pleasure.”

 

Hermione did go pink at that. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, sitting down. Oh dear. Stupidly, she'd not quite anticipated that reaction, and now wasn't sure how to deal with it. “I – I haven't seen you in Rivendell before, when did you get here?”

 

“In the early hours of this morning, as the Sun was rising,” he replied. “I spoke with Lord Elrond on arrival but have spent most of this day in slumber – having ridden through the night, I was in need of it.”

 

“You have travelled far then?” Hermione asked. The stranger nodded.

 

“From Gondor.” He fingered a ring on his finger as he spoke, a silver ring with a white tree on a black background embossed on it. Hermione noticed the same white tree emblem emblazoned on his vest.

 

“That's a long way to come just to enjoy Elven hospitality,” said Hermione. “May I take it you had other reasons?”

 

He nodded, face clouding in suspicion. “Yes, but I do not think I should speak of them here. Lord Elrond tells me there is to be a council tomorrow – I will speak to none but him of it until then.”

 

“I'll be at that council too,” said Hermione, turning on the charm, or trying to at any rate. She wasn't awfully well practised at this sort of thing, and unfortunately for her it showed.

 

“Will you now,” said the stranger. “Lady, I might ask your own business in Rivendell. You are clearly not from here yourself; indeed, from your accent I might even have taken you for a Gondorian woman.”

 

“You can't surely know everyone in Gondor,” said Hermione sceptically. “It's a big place, and I doubt you've been to the outlying parts of it. I'm fleeing war, same as you.”

 

“I am fleeing nothing,” the man said scornfully. “And while I cannot claim to know all in Gondor by name, all in Gondor know me. I am Boromir of Minas Tirith, eldest son of Denethor, Lord Steward of all Gondor. And had you in truth been a woman of Gondor, you would have recognised the emblem of the White Tree as soon as you had laid eyes on it.” He reached under the table and grabbed her wrist. “I would know who you really are and why you are here, with the face and voice of a Gondor woman when you clearly are not one.”

 

“Let me go,” Hermione hissed, feeling for her wand with her free hand. Fortunately, he'd gone for her nearer left hand, and Arwen had had the foresight to sew straps into her right sleeve to hold her wand in place. Now if she could only slide it into her hand...

 

“Tell me who you are, Lady,” the very Lucius-like sneer on his face hinted that he doubted the veracity of that title very much, “and I'll happily oblige.”

 

“Hermione!” Draco's voice was louder than it needed to be and far more cheerful than Draco could possibly be feeling. “Introduce me to your new friend!” He strode over and clapped both Hermione and Boromir on the shoulder, his right hand on Hermione and his left hand on Boromir's. Hermione noticed the tip of Draco's wand poking out from under his left hand right into Boromir's neck, and the memory came to her of sitting her OWLs and seeing Draco scribbling furiously onto a parchment during the History of Magic exam... with his left hand. She really shouldn't be feeling quite so relieved at his arrival as she was.

 

“This is Boromir of Minas Tirith, and it turns out his father is Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor.”

 

“Is that so?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “In that case, let me introduce myself. I am Draco, son of Lucius of the House of Malfoy, and,” here he lowered his voice, bending down to whisper in Boromir's ear, “I know about 20 different ways to kill you with a word, and many many more to make your life really uncomfortable. And believe me, so does she.” He indicated Hermione with a nod, who by this time had her own wand free and was pointing the tip at Boromir, smiling sweetly. “Now, how about you let her go and we all sit and drink as friends, hmm? Nothing spoils a feast faster than deadly fights breaking out, and we've not even had the soup course yet.”

 

Reluctantly, Boromir released his grip, raising his hands in surrender.

 

“Very well, son of Lucius. I will believe that you both have honest intentions for now, seeing as we are all guests of Lord Elrond, and he would not have knowingly invited spies of the Enemy beneath his roof. But honest intentions are best proved by honest words. Who are you in truth? For the House of Malfoy is not one that is known to me, and I know most of the noble houses of these lands.”

 

Draco sheathed his wand, taking the empty seat on Hermione's other side. “We might as well tell him, Granger. If he's a guest here, he's probably trustworthy.”

 

“He'll be at the council tomorrow,” said Hermione. “I daresay it'll come out then anyway.” She turned to Boromir, putting on her best icy disdain.

 

“We're not from Gondor. We're not from anywhere you'll ever have heard of. I'm Hermione Granger, and that's Draco Malfoy. We also have three other friends at this table who you'll meet in due course. We're witches and wizards from the future, and we got here by a magical accident. We're trying to find a way home, but if we can help with the war against your Dark Lord Sauron, we will.” She heard Draco cough at that. “Well, I will and so will the other three, Draco says you can count him out of it, he's going home.”

 

“By the Valar, I've now heard everything,” Boromir growled, reaching for his wine and taking a draught, before coughing on it. “Manwe, that's strong! Be careful, both of you, sorcerers though you may be, unless you know charms and spells for preventing immediate drunkenness, take care with that wine.” He glanced down the table. One of the mini-Vikings had just downed a goblet of it, tilted his head back and promptly fallen back, crashing to the ground accompanied by the cheering of his fellows. A few serving-Elves stopped by, sighed and picked him up, presumably carrying him back to his room. Boromir sighed.

 

“You see what I mean. If it can knock out a Dwarf, it is strong indeed.” He shook his head. “Valar, I am drinking with Dwarves and Elves and sorcerers from the far future. I had believed all to be legends and myths told to frighten small children; well, the Elves and Dwarves at any rate, I had not given much thought to the future.”

 

“We hadn't given much thought to the past either, if that's any help,” said Hermione kindly. Now that he was no longer actively threatening either of them, or looked likely to, she was warming to him a little, or at least to his plight. “I'd read stories about the Fair Folk, but I never thought I'd meet one.”

 

“Actually,” said Draco, “most Muggle tales of the Fair Folk don't involve the Eldar at all, it's been proved by wizarding scholars that all the mediaeval sources were based on encounters with pureblood wizards and witches.” He noticed Boromir's look of utter confusion and Hermione looking as if she was about to pump him for everything he'd ever known about faerie scholarship ever, which actually wasn't a lot. “But I think we're confusing our Gondorian friend here. More wine, Boromir?”

 

“No,” said Boromir firmly. “I think I may have had quite enough already, thank you.” He looked askance at them both. “So, the two of you are from the future. And you were born on Middle Earth, you were not sent from the fabled Undying Lands.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “No, we're from the future Middle Earth. I didn't even know I was a witch until I was eleven.”

 

Boromir did start at that. “Your parents never told you??” He shot a look at Draco. “Is that normal?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Only if you're Muggle-born. My parents were a witch and wizard, and so I always knew I was one too. Hermione's were not and didn't knew magic existed until she was eleven and she got invited to our school to learn it.”

 

Boromir had gone very still. “There are hereditary wizards in your time... and you were fathered by one.”

 

Draco nodded slowly. “Er, yes.” He noticed the hopeful expression dawning in Boromir's eyes. “Oh no. Do not look at me like that. I am not saving your kingdom from the Dark Lord, I am going home. We have our own Dark Lord to deal with, and I have a widowed mother to find and rescue from him. I keep telling you people, if you are looking for a hero, you want _him_.” He pointed out Harry, who was engaged in conversation with one of the Dwarves.

 

Boromir glanced down at Harry, watching him carefully. “He is one of your friends?”

 

Hermione nodded. “He's the best wizard I know. Shut up, Draco, he is.”

 

“I didn't say anything,” Draco muttered.

 

“You didn't need to,” Hermione snapped.

 

“A wizard like yourselves,” said Boromir. “And his father, is he a wizard too?”

 

“He was,” said Hermione. “He's been dead for years though.”

 

“The wizard's son,” Boromir burst out laughing. “And here were we all thinking old Mithrandir had some secret he'd never told anyone. Ah, Faramir will laugh when I tell him this. Ach, this means I now owe him money, damn him.”

 

“I haven't drunk any of the wine yet, have I?” said Draco, frowning.

 

“I don't think so,” said Hermione.

 

“That's a shame, because then I could blame my inability to follow any of Boromir's conversation on it.”

 

To both their surprise, Boromir laughed out loud. “I am making no sense, am I?” Both Draco and Hermione shook their heads. Boromir took another drink of the wine, still smiling. “Orome's balls, I may as well tell you why I am here. You have been honest with me, I should return the favour. I do not know what they have told you of this world, but you clearly are aware of the war raging between the Dark Lord Sauron's forces and those who would keep his evil influence from spreading. Chief of whom are the Men of Gondor, of whom, as the Steward's eldest son, I lead the armies of.”

 

“That makes sense,” said Hermione. “But if you lead the armies and there's a war going on, why are you here? Shouldn't you be in Gondor with your men?”

 

“Even now, I would be,” Boromir sighed. “But a dream came to my brother back in June on the eve of the first great assault out of Mordor, and several times thereafter. Once even I had it. Darkness in the East, a fading light in the West, and then a woman's voice calling to us.”

 

“And she spoke of the wizard's son,” said Draco. Boromir nodded.

 

“_Seek for the Sword that was broken: in Imladris it dwells. There shall be counsels taken stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token that Doom is close at hand. For Isildur's Bane shall waken and the Wizard's Son forth shall stand._ That is what she said to us. Of course, neither Faramir nor I understood a word. We went to our father and asked him what he thought, and he knew little more than we... but he recognised the name Imladris as the ancient home of Elrond Halfelven, greatest of lore-masters, and told us it was rumoured to lie in the north, in what had once been the ancient kingdom of Arnor. And so it was eventually agreed I should set out to search for Imladris and find the meaning of the riddle. And here I am, over a hundred days later, and what do I find but a war council to be held and not one, but two, wizard's sons.” He was looking almost hungrily at Draco.

 

“It _isn't me,_” said Draco firmly. “I am not the hero you are looking for!”

 

“It's true,” Hermione agreed. “He used to work for our Dark Lord, knows far too much about Dark magic for anyone's liking, and is an untrustworthy craven coward. I really don't think Draco is who you're after.”

 

Boromir sighed, although his eyes dropped to their wands, still greedy. “If that is so, that is so, although your wands would be of great help to Gondor. Lady Hermione, you may not be in the prophecy, but if you wanted to aid Gondor, I would happily escort you back there.”

 

Hermione could feel herself blushing. “Er... thanks, I think. But I can't leave my friends, they're all I've got. Also I can't decide anything until after the council. We should all see what Elrond has to say before we make our long-term decisions, shouldn't we? Counsels stronger than Morgul-spells, right?”

 

“Ah, as you wish, as you wish,” Boromir sighed. “There is truth in your words, my lady. Very well, we shall discuss all this on the morrow and then we shall see what is to be done. In the mean time, my offer remains open – there will always be a place for you in Gondor if you're willing to join our cause.”

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Elrond watched the three of them, Man of Gondor, Wizard of Slytherin, Witch of Gryffindor, going from wary acquaintances to brief hostility to truce to potential allies and now rapidly into friends as Boromir asked for tales of the future, and Hermione and Draco gladly obliged, with tales of Muggle and magical history both, and both of them correcting each other and arguing where the stories didn't match, in such a way as to cause Boromir no end of amusement. It was the first time Elrond had seen Boromir let his guard down since his arrival, and while the strong Elven wine may have helped matters along, Elrond had no doubt that the two young wizards were the cause.

 

“You are watching them too,” Gandalf murmured in Elrond's ear.

 

“Most definitely, their conversation is the most interesting to be heard at this table,” said Elrond. “Lady Hermione is now telling Boromir that the Muggles of the future have horseless carriages made of steel and powered by oil dug up from beneath the ground, and Draco is pointing out that that is a disgusting and obscene waste of resources which damages the ground as the oil is retrieved and poisons the air when it's burned and that wizards use flying broomsticks to get around, when they don't travel through fireplaces or magically appear and disappear. And now our friend Boromir does not seem to know who to believe.”

 

“And which do you believe, mellon-nin?”

 

Elrond shrugged. “Men live on the ground, Dwarves delve below it, Elves live in the trees above and Eagles high in the mountains. All are equally valid and possible at the same time. All the same, I do think the magical solutions are more elegant.”

 

“But not so practical for those that must live without magic,” Gandalf reminded him. He nodded towards Draco and Hermione, who now seemed to be describing some sort of sport involving said flying brooms and something called a Quaffle. “Considering they were sworn enemies not so long ago by their own accounts, they seem to be getting on quite well. Draco in particular seems to have changed his mind quite swiftly.”

 

“Well, nearly dying does tend to give one a new perspective on things. Also, discovering just exactly how Elven he isn't, despite being descended from one, may have shaken him a little.”

 

“All the same,” Gandalf pressed, “I would have expected a little more anger on his part? Quite possibly aimed at her, her friends, us, anyone else who got in his way?”

 

Elrond just smiled. “I drew the Dark blade out of him, my friend. I did not draw out only the Dark blade – I couldn't. Too much of his own darkness was drawn to it, so I drew that out too. He is not completely good, far from it. But he will find himself less inclined to acts of evil for some time. It will wear off eventually, of course – his capacity for darkness will return in time. But in the mean time, he will be changed, and the effects of those changes will persist long after his dark side has returned. I have given him back his innocence, Gandalf. He has a second chance at life, and it is to be hoped that by the time old habits return, he'll be too far down a different road to be what he was.”

 

“Cunning,” said Gandalf thoughtfully. “Of course, the boy Draco is most insistent that his dearest wish is to go home and find his mother.”

 

“Well, there are worse motivations for a man or Elf to have than that. If we all thought so, there would be no wars or Dark Lords.”

 

“Indeed,” said Gandalf. “But Elrond, will they stay that way?”

 

Elrond sat back, sipping his wine, concentrating on the part of his brain that the legendary Elven farsightedness came from.

 

“I do not know,” he said. “I don't think even he knows yet. But this I feel – that this is what in truth was meant to happen, and that this chance will not go wasted.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Luna meanwhile had made herself comfortable next to the leader of what she was reasonably certain was a party of Wood Elves from over the Misty Mountains, and if her memory served her correctly, this one was far more involved with events than even he knew.

 

“Hello there,” she greeted him in Sindarin.

 

“Hello-” he turned, noticed her ears, stopped talking and stared at her for some time before talking again. “You're human!”

 

Luna twirled her earring. “Yes, I am.”

 

“Speaking Sindarin? That well? Estel of Imladris and his mother were the only humans who were that good, and you're neither. Did you grow up here as well?”

 

“No,” said Luna, hoping she'd guessed his meaning correctly – a good student of the language she might be, but conversational Sindarin was something else. “I'm not from here. I'm a visitor from elsewhere, sent by Elbereth to help.”

 

That did get his attention. “Help is something we could all use. Are you Istar then?”

 

Luna nodded. “Yes, and I brought four others with me. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Draco. You'll also hear them called Hurin, Gwenethruin, Lenniel and Uruloki by the Elves of Rivendell.”

 

The Elf looked them over as she pointed them out. “They are all so young – at least you all look that way. All so young and...” he stopped, turning to look at her carefully. “You are human. Not Maia at all, you have never been to the Undying Lands!” He closed his eyes, leaning a little closer. “But you do have power, and it is akin to that of Elrond and his children, you have the look of the line of Luthien, but how...?”

 

“I'm from the future,” said Luna, “and Elbereth sent one of the Eldar back with a key to get us to the past. There's a lot of Luthien descended wizards and witches where I come from.”

 

“And you brought four,” the Elf smiled grimly. “We could have used an army of them, young human.”

 

Luna just grinned back at him. “I promise you, they're all the army you need.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Elvish – now they're in Rivendell, it's getting used a bit more!
> 
> Hurin – name of a mortal hero in the Simarillion, based (I think) on the Sindarin hur which means passionate, strong or fiery.
> 
> Gwenethruin – means red virgin or red maid. It suits Ginny, I think.
> 
> Lenniel – wayfaring maiden or traveller's daughter. As Hermione is derived from Hermes, the Greek messenger god, so I based her Elvish name on the Sindarin word lenn, meaning journey.
> 
> Uruloki – Quenya term for the first dragons, literally means fire-serpent. As the original Uruloki featured in old Elven stories, I'm guessing that even Elves who don't speak Quenya would recognise the name and it sounds better than the Sindarin for dragon, which is amlug.
> 
> Isileth – derived from the Quenya for moon, isil (Sindarin is ithil). Means moon-maiden.
> 
> Eirien – daisy.
> 
> Niphredil – snowdrop
> 
> Tathariel – willow-daughter, or willow-maiden.
> 
> Nethig – Elvish pet name for a little sister
> 
> Gwador - foster brother.
> 
> Muindor – actual brother, plural is muindorath
> 
> Ellon – male elf, plural is ellyn
> 
> Elleth – female elf, plural is ellyth
> 
> Adaneth – human woman, plural is adanyth
> 
> Hir, hiril – lord, lady
> 
> If you are wondering why Boromir and Arwen's brothers were at the feast (as was Aragorn) when none of them were in canon, check how long Draco was unconscious for compared to how long Frodo took to recover. That's right, five days as opposed to four. In canon, Aragorn skipped the feast to meet the twins who'd just got back that night, and Boromir arrived in the early hours of the following morning, and attended the council held that day. Here, Draco was unconscious for an extra day, meaning the feast got postponed. Which meant the twins had been back since the previous night, Boromir had arrived that morning but spent the day sleeping, and they all got to go to the feast. You can blame hobbits having faster recuperation skills for that. Also it means I get to introduce Boromir early.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the Council dawns and despite the after-effects of the night before, everyone who is meant to be there makes it. Much is discussed, and the history of the Ring is both told and shown. Luna finally reveals why they're there, and both Aragorn and Harry end up making decisions that will change both their futures...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit talky, but the original Council of Elrond was not much better! I have tried to liven it up a bit. Much information has been condensed and summarised and paraphrased so I don't have to type pages out – I think the backstory is now sufficiently filled in for you all. Any questions, please feel free to ask. Alternately, watching the LotR movies or rereading the book will also clear up a fair bit of the timeline.

The day of the council dawned clear and bright, with warm autumn sunshine beaming in through east-facing windows.

Hermione pulled the covers over her head and wished it would go away now please, along with the freight train currently hammering through her head. Then maybe her eyes would stop burning and her head would stop hurting, and she could sleep for another few hours and wake up not wanting to vomit.

"It is your own fault, young one," said Arwen, standing over Hermione's bed with her arms folded. "You are meant to mix the wine with water and sip it, not quaff it from the goblet neat like a Dwarf."

"I didn't know!" Hermione wailed. "I don't really drink much at home! Oh god, make it stop, my stomach wants to die. Can we have the council tomorrow, I can't go to it like this."

"No," said Arwen pointedly. "And do not try to convince me that you are entirely innocent in matters of drink, I do not know what a tequila slammer is but I am fully aware that you and Draco and the Gondorian were raiding the kitchens in the early hours of this morning, attempting to procure things that could be used to make one. Mercifully you were all three too drunk to get into the miruvor supplies. As it is, there is salt everywhere and we are out of cranberries. Silanen sends her regards and says to tell you none of you are ever allowed in her kitchens again."

Hermione winced, vague memories of the evening before coming back to her.

"I am really quite sorry," she whispered. "I think I may have mentioned wishing we had some things to make shots from, and then Malfoy kept suggesting things we could substitute for tequila and lemons that you might conceivably have. Please don't blame Boromir, he only came along to keep an eye on us. He was mostly just watching. And pointing and laughing, but to be fair, the wine, salt and beetroot combination was horrible."

Arwen blinked, bewildered. "I... cannot even begin to fathom how your minds work. Never in ten thousand years would it have ever have occurred to me to combine any of those. Indeed, there are those under this roof who have lived that long and truly, none of them, even in their cups, have ever thought to combine those."

"Well take it from me, they don't need to, it's disgusting," said Hermione, groaning. "Oh god, my head. I swear I will kill Malfoy, the kitchen raiding was his idea."

Arwen sighed and reached into her pocket, producing a small vial of cloudy liquid. "In that case, you will want no more of his handiwork."

Hermione visibly winced. "Is it alcoholic?"

"I do not think so, he told me it was called a Hangover Remedy when he gave it to me this morning. While I have not tried it myself, I can tell you that when I saw him, he bade me a cheery good morning, gave me the vial to give to you and walked off whistling."

Hermione sat bolt upright and practically snatched the vial off Arwen. "Thank the Valar," she gasped, downing the contents in one and sinking back onto the sheets, grimacing at the taste. "He's a cocky git, but I will give him this, he's very good at improvising potions." She sighed happily, feeling the pain and nausea start to recede.

Despite herself, Arwen smiled. "So I can tell Ada you will definitely be attending council then?"

Hermione nodded. "I think so. When is it?"

"In the Great Courtyard in twenty minutes," said Arwen, not entirely successful in concealing a smile.

Hermione shrieked out some most unladylike language and flung herself out of bed, reaching for her wand.

"I have brought you a bowl, towel and jug of water, and a hairbrush," said Arwen calmly. "I am told you can use Warming Charms on the water if you need to. Also I have laid out a complete set of clean clothes and some hair pins for you."

"Cold water is fine," said Hermione, filling the bowl with cold water and promptly dunking her head in it.

Arwen left her to it with a smile, closing the door as Hermione dried herself off with a towel and started casting Drying Charms.

~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning, Potter," said Draco, raising his voice rather unnecessarily for Harry's liking.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked. He had avoided the worst after-effects of the strong Elven wine by switching mostly to water after seeing a full-grown Dwarf keel over in front of him after one goblet full, but he'd still not had as much sleep as he'd have liked. He and Ginny had ended up staying up until after midnight with the Dwarven contingent learning Dwarven war songs and all there was to know about gold.

"Merely inquiring after your wellbeing on this fine sunny morning," Draco grinned. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I need three hours sleep and for you to shut up," Harry growled. "And you're one to talk, I got woken up by Elrohir asking if it was customary to dip beetroot in one's wine glass where I came from. Malfoy, if you want to get drunk and embarrass yourself, go ahead, but why did you drag Hermione into it?"

"I did not drag her into anything," said Draco indignantly as they headed for the courtyard, "she was telling me and Boromir about drinks the Muggles have in the future, and I came up with a few things that they might have here that we could use instead, and then Boromir refused to believe any of them would be remotely drinkable, and that he had been out on campaign and had to make do with some truly revolting attempts at home brewing before now. And you know Granger, give her a hypothesis and she has to test it..."

"Malfoy," Harry cut in tersely, "shut up. Leave Hermione alone and stop trying to corrupt my friends. And who's Boromir?"

Draco pointed to a stumbling figure up ahead. "That's him."

Boromir glanced up as he heard them coming, and made straight for Draco, glaring at him. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on last night, and they looked like they'd been slept in. His eyes were bloodshot and dark-rimmed and all told he looked like he could do with a shower.

"Wizard-boy," he growled at Draco, "I will have you know that only the laws of hospitality are preventing me from hauling your esteemed posterior out of this place and beheading you before drop-kicking your head into the Loudwater."

"Rough night, was it?" Draco asked innocently. Boromir growled under his breath.

"The night was as nothing compared to being awoken by Lord Elrond wanting to know why I was corrupting children under his roof. In vain I protested that the idea was all yours, and that you at least required no further corruption by me to cause trouble, and that I accompanied you purely to prevent injury to yourselves. As a Man grown, I allegedly should have known better, whereas you are apparently innocent children. Not by Gondorian standards, I assure you, I have attended weddings where the bride was fifteen before now, and there are boys as young as fourteen among my troops who, I might add, are entirely better behaved than the pair of you. Fortunately, as I am neither your father nor your commander, I will not be taking responsibility for you. As it is, I merely have to beg for aid for my entire country at a high-level council where it is now known not even a pair of schoolchildren will do as I tell them-"

"Obliviate!" Draco then proceeded to cast half a dozen Cleaning Charms on him and finally pressed a small vial of Hangover Potion into Boromir's hand.

"Draco!" Harry hissed, scandalised.

"It's better this way, trust me," Draco murmured. "How are you feeling, my lord?"

Boromir blinked, rubbing his eyes in confusion. "I... don't know... where am I?"

"Rivendell, my lord," said Draco calmly. "You arrived yesterday, and we met at the feast. You had had a fair amount of Elven wine, I am thinking it may have clouded your memory?"

Boromir squinted at Draco. "I remember the feast well enough, and I remember leaving it with you and the Lady Hermione. I remember sitting out by the fountain talking, and I also distinctly remember her saying something to do with lemons, whatever they are, and then my memory fails me. However, I remember you well enough, son of Lucius, so do not call me your lord as if you are my vassal. It is almost as if you are trying to atone for something."

Harry decided there and then that he could probably get to like this Boromir, whoever he was. The man was clearly no fool.

"Why don't you drink that potion, Boromir?" Draco asked innocently. "It will help with the hangover."

Boromir eyed it suspiciously. "In Rohan, it is the custom to consume a mouthful of the previous night's ale to stave off the usual after-effects – they call it cutting the tail of the horse that threw you. Would this by any chance be something along those lines?"

Yes, Harry really could get to like this Boromir.

"Would I lie about something like that?" Draco asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes," said Boromir promptly. "And do not play the wounded innocent with me, I have been in charge of soldiers too long for that to work. I note also that both I and my clothes are cleaner than they have been since leaving Minas Tirith, despite me having no memory of how I even got here. Nevertheless, I could wish my insides felt the same and so I will drink this sorcerer's brew regardless. I merely counsel you to think of all the innocent Gondorian women and children that would be slaughtered by Orcs as a result of it impairing my performance at this council." So saying he swallowed the contents, coughing as it went down.

"Are you alright, sir?" Harry asked as Boromir wiped his mouth. He still looked rather pale, but his eyes were already looking less bloodshot.

"I have felt worse, I think," Boromir answered. His eyes widened as he took in Harry. "You... you're the other wizard's son."

Now that was just odd. Instinctively, Harry reached for the Ring. "My father was a wizard, yes," Harry said guardedly. "Why, what has Malfoy told you?"

"Very little, but... ah, I am confusing you, am I not?" Boromir smiled. "Forgive me. I am Boromir of Gondor, son of the Lord Steward Denethor, and I promise you I will explain the significance of my words at the council."

"Harry Potter, son of James," said Harry, slowly releasing his grip on the Ring. He knew it was evil, but even so, there was something faintly reassuring about having it there. Which was probably for the best as he had a horrible suspicion he knew what was coming next.

"I'm not in a prophecy, by any chance, am I?"

Boromir coughed and didn't quite meet his eyes. Draco just grinned at him in his usual annoying I-know-something-you-don't-know way.

"Ah, we are here," said Boromir, as they approached the courtyard. "After you, my lord Istari." Sweeping low, he made way for them both, glancing up at Draco with an ironic grin.

"Now who looks like he wants something," Draco grinned as he made his way past.

Most of the attendees were already there – Elrond was seated in a high seat carved from oak, with Glorfindel on one side and another Elven advisor who turned out to be called Erestor on the other. Aragorn was sitting between Glorfindel and Gandalf... at least it seemed that way until Draco noticed the small figure between Gandalf and Aragorn. About the same height as a house-elf, but fully dressed and much more stoutly built, yet also noticeably frail and grey with age, a small man in a brown cloak was sitting on a stool between Ranger and wizard, currently dozing in the sunlight. Draco noticed that his feet were bare.

Aragorn noticed Draco looking and put a finger to his lips. "He is a hobbit," Aragorn murmured, "and one whose history is intimately linked to that which your companion bears. He is old though; do not wake him."

Draco nodded, and took a seat opposite Elrond. Luna was already there, twirling her wand in her air and smiling vacantly at the brown-robed stranger Elf that had been at the feast last night. He was glancing back at her, small smile in place but clearly slightly unnerved. Draco somehow got the impression that the Elf in question wasn't that old by Elven standards.

"Hello Draco," she said as he sat down next to her. "Who's your friend?" She indicated Boromir, who had taken the seat next to Draco.

"Boromir of Gondor, son of the Lord Steward, and don't tell me you don't already know and aren't planning his fate."

"Boromir!" Luna gasped. "That's wonderful, Draco, you two will get on famously!"

"Son of Lucius, may I know the lady's name?" asked Boromir gruffly, sitting down on Draco's other side.

"I'd rather know how she knew his," said Harry, taking the seat on Luna's other side. "Is he in the Red Book too?"

Luna nodded. "Yes, but I can't really tell you a lot. It's good that you are getting on though, it'll make such a difference."

"There is a little-known story passed down through various wizarding families about this war," Draco explained. "I know a little, but not much; I would have been allowed to read the full book on my seventeenth birthday, but it seems I may not get the chance now. Apparently Luna's parents were less traditionalist than mine, and let her read it young. Then she managed to lay hands on a magical copy of it, and it came to life and brought us all back here. Really, the whole thing is entirely her fault."

"Indeed," said Boromir, a smile ghosting his features. "Well, Lady Luna, if you friends can help us, we will all be entirely in your debt and theirs."

Luna smiled back, only a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I hope so," she said softly.

Ginny was next to arrive, taking a seat next to Harry, and then two of the Dwarves arrived, filling nearly all the seats. Elrond glanced around, as if wondering whether to start or not.

"Ginny, where's Hermione?" Harry whispered.

"I don't know," Ginny whispered back. "Still in bed, I think. She didn't get in until really quite late."

All eyes shifted to Draco, who squirmed uncomfortably. "It was strong wine!" he sulked. "We weren't used to it! It went straight to our heads! Don't tell me you're not hungover too!"

"We didn't drink anything like as much of it as you did, and we thought to copy the Elves around us who were mixing it with water!" Harry hissed.

Ginny nodded in agreement. "Not to mention learning from the Dwarves on the other side. When you see someone built like a monolith with a beard down to his ankles and a name like Snorri Bloodaxe Stronginthearm take a lengthy draught of the stuff and fall unconscious in front of you, you tend to slow down your drinking!"

They were interrupted by a cough from Elrond calling the council to order, but as he did so, the sound of running footsteps could be heard and Hermione staggered in, wild-eyed and frizzy-haired.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, I overslept!" she gasped, cheeks crimson.

"Welcome, Lady Hermione," said Elrond calmly, as if there was nothing amiss in her arrival. "Why don't you join your companions, and we will begin."

Blushing, Hermione sank into the empty chair next to Ginny and tried to look inconspicuous. Fortunately, the curious glances that came her way soon passed as Elrond began the introductions.

Most present were already familiar faces around Rivendell, but there were a few outsiders, not least the stranger Elf, who turned out to be Legolas, youngest son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, far to the East, and the Dwarves, Gloin of the Lonely Mountain, ambassador from King Dain, and Gloin's son Gimli. And of course, the five children were the ultimate outsiders.

"Lastly, may I introduce Harry Potter, son of James, Lady Hermione Granger, Lady Ginevra Weasley, Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Lady Luna Lovegood. These are five young children sent here from the far distant future by an accident of magic, although some would say the Valar themselves had a hand in it. For despite their youth, they are gifted with the power of the Istari not unlike that of Gandalf here."

That did draw many curious looks, and not a few murmurs.

"Five of them!" cried Gloin. "Why, with five Gandalfs, we could surely drive Sauron back into Mordor for all eternity. Young lords and ladies, if you would ride to the aid of the Dwarves, King Dain would reward you with riches beyond your wildest dreams. The Dwarven treasuries would be yours to enjoy as you would!"

Legolas shot Gloin an angry glare. "Riches will suffice nothing if they are killed in the process. My father, King Thranduil, would never expect children to do his fighting for him, no matter how skilled. But he would surely be interested in studying your magic and allying it with that of our people, so that we might secure Mirkwood for good."

Boromir rolled his eyes. "It will avail you naught, I have already offered alliance with my father, the Lord Steward of Gondor, and surely they would ride to the aid of their own kind above all others? For Gondor has lore as ancient as that of the Elves, and riches akin to those of the Dwarves, and above all that, the honor and nobility of high rank amongst Men to those that would join us."

Harry clutched at the Ring, dazed. He'd not expected this, and yet what else was the likely outcome? Good thing no one knew about the Ring, really. He caught Aragorn's eye, and the Ranger stood up.

"By your leave, my lords," he said calmly, "there are many matters to be put before this Council before the day is long. If I may suggest discussing those first, then perhaps my lord and lady Istari may make their own choices about where they will go and who they will pledge allegiance to."

"Wise words, my friend," said Elrond, smiling. "Very well, let us return to business."

Much was discussed, some of it more interesting than others. News from all over Middle Earth was presented, most of it concerning trouble and war, and the forces of evil advancing on all fronts. Then Gloin spoke up and told of an ambassador from Mordor that had come to the Lonely Mountain, offering friendship and magical rings, and that got Harry's attention like nothing else. He felt himself go even colder when Gloin said what the emissary had been after – a ring, the smallest of rings, a mere trifle that Sauron wanted. A ring taken by a hobbit. Harry forced himself not to grab the Ring again and make sure it was still there.

"The Ring!" Elrond cried. "What shall we do with the Ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies? That is the doom that we must deem." And Elrond began to speak, telling the tale of the One Ring and how Sauron, in the days when he still appeared fair of face, had learnt the art of ring-making from the Elves, making rings for Elves, Dwarves and Men and a master ring, One Ring to rule all the others. The Elves had hidden their three rings from him, but that had left Sauron with seven rings to give to the Dwarves and nine to give to mortal kings – nine kings who had become the Nine Riders, or Nazgul – Ringwraiths. Harry felt shivers run down his spine at the memory, and Draco's left arm had visibly twitched at the mention of them. Centuries had passed as Sauron had used the One Ring to the full and amassed a mighty army in Mordor, until a final alliance of Elves and Men from the lost land of Numenor had risen to overthrow him. These Numenorean Men were led by King Elendil and his sons Isildur and Anarion, and together they founded the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor. Elendil had joined forces with the Elven leader Gil-galad and marched on Mordor.

"A host like it had not been seen before and we have not seen its like since," said Elrond. "I was there as Gil-galad's herald, there at the last combat on the slopes of Orodruin, that the Edain call Mount Doom. I saw Gil-galad die and Elendil fall, his mighty sword Narsil breaking beneath him. And at last Isildur cut down Sauron and took his Ring, using the hilt-shard of his father's sword."

If Harry had felt uncomfortable before, that was nothing to how he felt now. If what Elrond said was true, this Ring was nothing less than the source of Sauron's power, and capable of corrupting even the strongest and noblest of people eventually as it tried to get back to Sauron. He wanted nothing to more to do with it. But he couldn't bring himself to give it up either.

"Isildur took it!" Boromir cried. "That is tidings indeed – in the South we had believed the Great Ring lost when the Shadow's first realm perished."

"Alas, yes," Elrond sighed. "I and Cirdan of the Grey Havens were the only ones there to witness it. We begged Isildur to throw the Ring into the fires of Orodruin to unmake it. Alas, it was not to be. He kept it as wergild for the deaths of his father and brother, and I do not believe he ever spoke of it to any, so small wonder is it the tale is not known in Gondor. Isildur journeyed home to Arnor, but was ambushed on the way and killed by Orcs. Three of his party lived to return to Rivendell, bringing the shards of Narsil and the news of his father and grandfather's deaths to Isildur's son Valandil, but no trace of the Ring was ever found." Elrond indicated the stone dais in the centre of the courtyard, on which the remains of a once-fine sword lay. "Behold the Sword that finished Sauron once. It has never yet been reforged, nor will it be, not until an heir of Elendil steps forward to wield it again in defence of his country. Until Isildur's heir steps forward to claim his kingship and right the wrongs of his sire past." Elrond stared at Aragorn as he said this. Aragorn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not quite meeting Elrond's eyes.

"It will never be reforged then," said Boromir, staring gloomily at the broken pieces. "Anarion's line failed in Gondor centuries past, and Arnor fell even before that. Who now is left of that line? In whose veins runs the royal blood of old? Who is left to wield it? None now living known to me. So why was I told to seek the Sword that was Broken?" He looked up, noticing the eyes of the Council upon him. "Forgive me, my lords and ladies, allow me to speak of what I mean." He proceeded to tell of Gondor, and how the kingdom had been keeping the wild things of Mordor checked for many long years, until war had come upon them in June, and a new dark power had beaten them back to the western shores of the Great River Anduin. He told of the dream riddle that had come to him and his brother, and how he had journeyed north to seek out the fabled vale of Imladris.

"And here I have met not one but two wizard's sons, and I have seen the Sword that is Broken," Boromir sighed. "I have even heard what Isildur's Bane is. But the Ring is lost and the sword is doomed to remain forever broken, and I am no wiser for the journey!" He looked ready to tear his hair out.

Harry became aware of several things: the Ring growing heavy around his neck, Hermione's wand twitching impatiently in her hand... and Aragorn getting to his feet.

"My friend Bilbo here," Aragorn nudged the sleepy hobbit awake, "once wrote some lines that seem to apply to your dilemma quite well.

All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
A light from the shadows shall spring;  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:  
The crownless again shall be King."

"That I did," said Bilbo, smiling broadly. "I didn't catch your name, good sir, but I do know what's what, and if you came seeking aid for Gondor, the Dunadan here is your man."

"Man of the- you are Numenorean?" Boromir did not look convinced. Looking at Aragorn, now dressed as a Ranger once more, it wasn't hard to see why Boromir was disbelieving.

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn," said Aragorn, "and I am descended through many fathers from Isildur himself. I can wield that blade, Boromir... and I will wield it in Gondor's defence, if Gondor will have me. What does she say? Will she have the House of Elendil return to her?"

"I was sent to seek the answer to a riddle, not beg a boon," said Boromir, getting up himself and staring eye to eye with Aragorn. "Gondor has no king... and Gondor needs no king."

Harry felt Luna go tense, and Hermione's wand was twitching again. The entire room had gone silent. Seconds ticked by like years, until finally the tension was shattered by a word.

"Reparo!" Light blazed from Hermione's wand into the Sword of Elendil. The shards drew together and a white flame blazed along the length of it, glowing so brightly none could look at it. Finally the flames died down to a softer light and then that too faded, leaving a sword gleaming in the sunlight as if newly-forged, the nicks and scratches of the years gone entirely. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a weapon so finely-crafted... or so deadly.

"I- I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. "I couldn't take it any more, I had to do something, it was all I could think of..."

"Peace, Lady Granger," said Gandalf with a smile. "You've done well; better than most Elven smiths could have managed."

"The white flame was a nice touch too," said Ginny. Hermione shook her head.

"I didn't do that, I just used a standard charm on it! Gandalf, why did it do that?"

"It is the Sword of Elendil, child, not a common tea cup," the old wizard said irritably. "When you cast strong magic at it, do not expect it to react like one!"

Boromir and Aragorn were both staring at the weapon in awe. Aragorn slowly reached his hand to touch it.

"Estel," Elrond's voice cut in, much harsher than Harry was used to hearing it. "Do not take that sword unless you plan to use it."

Aragorn let his hand fall, turning to Boromir. "Well, son of Denethor?" Harry could hear the accent shift, and now Aragorn's tones, subtly different before, sounded exactly like Boromir's as Aragorn adopted a perfect Minas Tirith accent.

"You speak like one of us and you know my father's name." Boromir visibly choked on his words. Aragorn nodded.

"Many years ago, I too served as a Captain of Gondor's armies. I have wandered far and wide and I am many years older than I look. Do not think I neglected Gondor in all that time! If I ride with you to Minas Tirith, do not think it will be the first time I have made the journey."

Boromir ran a hand through his hair and burst out laughing. "Ah, Manwe, I do not know if my father will give me a title or disown me for this. Returning after months away with the Sword of Elendil and Isildur's Heir to wield it. Yes, yes, come to Minas Tirith. If you can persuade the lady sorceress to accompany us, so much the better!"

"As to that, I think her more than capable of making up her own mind," Aragorn answered. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the sword and twirled it one-handed like an expert, before lifting it up, staring at the blade as it caught the sunlight.

"A new sword needs a new name," said Aragorn softly. "You were reborn in flame, so that is what I will call you. Anduril, Flame of the West!" He sheathed the sword in his empty scabbard before holding out a hand to Boromir.

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn and I will come to Minas Tirith."

Boromir took his hand and clasped it with a smile. "I shall be honoured to have your company, my lord. All we need now is for Isildur's Bane to resurface."

"That too can be arranged," said Gandalf calmly. "Harry, my boy, bring forth the Ring and place it on the dais."

Aragorn and Boromir took their seats and everyone watched Harry. Slowly, he reached for the Ring, trying to ignore the screaming voice in his head begging him not to do this, that once away from him, he'd never get it back.

"Harry," Ginny's voice broke through, "get on with it, we're waiting."

Something in Ginny's voice broke through the reverie and reminded him of days past at the Burrow, with Molly shouting at the twins, Ron complaining about schoolwork or housework, and Ginny following them around, too shy to talk but not wanting to leave either. He lifted the chain from around his neck and let the Ring fall onto the stonework, sitting back down before he could change his mind.

"Isildur's Bane," Boromir whispered, unable to take his eyes from it. "I can scarce credit my own eyes... but tell me, how did you come by it? It was not found in the future and brought back to us?"

Elrond shook his head. "No, it was picked up by the boy Harry when he found it on arrival in this time. But we get ahead of ourselves. Harry was not the first to find it in a lonely underground cavern. Bilbo, tell us your story."

Bilbo had been staring at the Ring in shock before Elrond's words roused him to his surroundings. Slowly he raised his eyes to stare reproachfully at Harry.

"I would call you thief, but I know all too well that it is a tricky word to use regarding the Ring," said Bilbo softly. "Young man, I will tell you my tale as Elrond bids me, but after that you will need to do some explaining of your own, because I last saw that Ring when I left it for my young nephew."

Harry nodded silently, feeling faintly nauseous inside. He'd been here so long, he'd forgotten he'd replaced someone who should have been here. While he knew there'd have to be an explanation eventually, the thought of explaining to a relative of the hobbits in question just how he'd come to be here was not something he was looking forward to.

Bilbo proceeded to explain how he'd found the Ring, winning it after a fashion from the creature Gollum, who sounded to Harry exactly like the force of twisted malevolent evil Kreacher wished he could be. It was a good story actually, and Bilbo seemed to lose himself in the telling of it. Harry was actually sad when Elrond laughed and brought the tale to a halt, stating that it was enough to know how the Ring had been found and that after many years it had passed to Bilbo's heir Frodo. And now the attention turned back to Harry.

"Frodo had had that ring many years before I finally discovered it was the One Ring," said Gandalf. "I visited him earlier this year and revealed its true nature to him and urged him to make plans to flee the Shire for Rivendell. In June, word came to me of Sauron waging open war on Gondor, and I went South to seek advice from Saruman, the head of my order."

"Saruman!" Glorfindel spoke up. "Is he not wise in the ways of Sauron and the lore of the rings? Why is he not here, or at least word from him not before us?"

"Alas, I can answer that," Gandalf sighed. "And I will do so now." He proceeded to tell of how he had received word to come and see Saruman urgently, and that the Nine were abroad. Having left a message for Frodo to leave the Shire at once and flee to Rivendell, he set off for Orthanc, where he discovered that Saruman, far from wanting to see Sauron defeated, had wanted to take and use the Ring for himself, and had taken Gandalf prisoner. He had only just escaped mere weeks ago and come to the Shire to find Frodo had only just left it. Riding on to Bree, hoping for news, he found to his surprise not word of four hobbits, but five children of Men riding hobbit-ponies, who had departed in the company of Strider the Ranger.

"It was not the news I had hoped for, and yet it seemed to be the news I was meant to have," said Gandalf thoughtfully. "I did not know what had happened to my dear friend Frodo, but I also had faith that Aragorn would not have taken five strangers into the Wilds, not with instructions to watch for hobbits bearing the Ring. Not without good cause. I inspected the ponies left behind and sure enough, I recognised them as Shire-ponies, and some of Frodo's possessions were among them. I immediately thought of treachery, and I am ashamed to admit even your youth did not entirely save you from suspicion – the Enemy's servants can take many forms. But what could I do? In the end, all I could do was, ironically, rely on the Nine to guide me – they would follow the Ring. Sure enough, five of their number were soon seen riding East in a fury, and so I followed them. At Weathertop, I found them waiting for me, and while they did not attack during the day, when night fell I found myself besieged. I was hard put to it to hold them off."

"The lights!" cried Harry. "Aragorn and I saw the lights – we were three days away at that point. I remember Aragorn saying how he didn't want to meet you just yet as he didn't really want to have to explain how he'd lost the hobbits and found us instead."

"I did not lose the hobbits!" Aragorn protested. "Indeed, I find it hard to see how I can have lost someone I have never even laid eyes on."

"True enough!" Gandalf laughed. "Nevertheless, I survived the night and in the morning fled North, drawing four of them after me, which is why you only had five of them attack you, not the full Nine. They did not follow me forever, and eventually I made my way here by travelling to the Ettenmoors and south along the Hoarwell, arriving days before you did. You are fortunate it was so – the fight you put up against the Nine and that one of your number was so grievously injured by them has convinced me that whatever your motives, you are not of Sauron's design. But that leaves unanswered the question we all want to ask – if you are not of Mordor, who are you and how did you get here?"

All eyes turned to Harry, who found words failing him. It was lucky for him then that before he could do anything, Luna leapt off her chair and stepped into the centre to stand by the Ring.

"Many many years, centuries, millennia even, have passed between your time and ours," said Luna. "Three Ages of Humanity stand in between us, and most now have little memory of your words and deeds. But know this – we are from a time line where you won and although your brave words and deeds are long forgotten, echoes have survived in myth and legend and your descendants have built a world you could be proud of. Did I say forgotten? Not by everyone. Some of our families kept records of their ancestry and the tales of those ancestors, helped enormously by a record made of your history by one who lived through it all." She turned and knelt down to look Bilbo in the eyes.

"You finished your book, you and Frodo. The original was bound in red leather and it got called the Red Book. I don't think any of the original copies survived in Middle Earth, but copies did get made and the story got handed down to our time. My own mother transcribed her family's copy before they disowned her for marrying my father, and I knew it by heart before I was eleven. She even managed to teach me Sindarin before she died, although I'm not an expert in it."

"I finish – we win... oh!" Tears welled up in Bilbo's eyes. "Valar bless you, my dear, you've made an old hobbit very happy. I could only wish dear Frodo was here to see it as well."

Luna smiled. "I'll come on to that in a second. You see, me having read the Red Book meant that I knew what the Eldar were, which meant that when one returned from Valinor carrying an original copy of the Red Book, and came to our school of magic to be one of our teachers, I saw what no other student saw. I saw an Elf and I wasted very little time letting him know that. When he'd recovered from the shock of being recognised for what he was, he let me in on his mission and recruited me to help him."

The room had gone absolutely silent at this point. "What was your mission, Lady Luna?" Elrond asked.

"Simple, really," Luna answered. "Elbereth sent him back with the Red Book for one reason. She didn't like the ending."

"Didn't like the-" Elrond couldn't finish the sentence due to the room erupting in outrage.

"And what is wrong with a victory for Gondor?" Boromir shouted.

"If the entire magical world is descended from Arwen and I, how is that a failure?" Aragorn wanted to know.

"Elbereth... doesn't like it?" Bilbo whispered to himself.

"Conspiracy!" Draco yelled. "I knew it! The gods really do have it in for me!"

"That's right, Malfoy, always thinking of yourself," Harry snapped at him. "What about the rest of us, do you think Hermione, Ginny and I wanted to be here either?"

Gandalf responded by standing up, stretching both arms out and causing a flash of lightning to arc across the sky, with the loudest thunderclap any of them had ever heard. That had a way of getting everyone's attention.

"Perhaps if we all sit down and listen to the lady, we might get the answers we are after?" Gandalf said mildly, returning to his seat as if nothing had happened.

"Thank you, Gandalf," said Elrond, glaring at everyone rather pointedly. "Harry, Draco, do put each other down, brawling is most unbecoming at your age."

Harry and Draco let go of each other's robes and sat down, both muttering apologies. Some of them might even have been directed at each other.

"Luna, please continue," said Elrond. Luna smiled, bowed and continued.

"As I was saying, you win... but there is a cost. A terrible cost in lives ended and lives damaged. Elbereth wasn't pleased about it, and she decided to change things. So she sent Calenlass back with the Red Book, and he planted it in the library before intentionally telling the students he most wished to find it that it was there, and that it could help them achieve their fates." She indicated Harry and Draco. Harry merely looked a little taken aback, whereas Draco actually looked pale.

"They both had quests to accomplish – one had learnt it was his destiny to kill that world's Dark Lord, the other had lost his father and been blackmailed into agreeing to carry out a near impossible task for that same Dark Lord. They both wanted the Red Book's power to help them succeed... and Elbereth obliged. They'll get to complete their destinies... but it'll be here, not in our time. Meanwhile, the magic involved requires balance, so the four hobbits were taken instead to balance it out. Bilbo, Gandalf, don't worry. They're quite safe, Calenlass was expecting them. They'll be looked after, and when you win, they'll be sent home. But first," she indicated the Ring, "you need to win." So saying, she took her seat.

"I have to kill Sauron?" Harry said, looking as if he was about to faint. Luna shook her head.

"You don't have to do anything, Harry. That's the point. You're not here to be Isildur – that's Aragorn's role. You're here to be you. So are you, Draco."

"Yes, and it turns out I'm a craven coward," Draco announced proudly. "And now that I'm not under Voldemort's control, I'm going home, rescuing my mother and we're both fleeing the country. I'd be very surprised if my father hadn't planned for this eventuality somehow and left us a bolt-hole and some hidden stashes of money."

"An ignoble choice for a scion of an allegedly noble house, if I may say so," Boromir pointed out. "While not wishing to leave one's widowed mother in peril is admirable, fleeing rather than standing and fighting strikes me as... cowardly. Furthermore, as you said to me last night, your mother is a witch. Can she not rescue herself?"

Draco visibly flinched, the proud aristocratic demeanour giving way to frightened and angry teenager without missing a beat. "You don't understand," Draco snapped, "he is powerful and she's under his control! She's virtually his prisoner and her own sister's colluding in it. I have to get back to her and make sure she's alright!"

"Draco may make his choices as he will," said Elrond calmly. "For my part, I believe his experiences already have taught him much, and were he to wake in his own bed tomorrow, he would not be the same boy who was taken. Be that as it may, all five of you are here now, and while no charge is laid on any of you, any help you wish to volunteer would be gratefully accepted. Indeed, you have already done much by finding the Ring Frodo left behind and bringing it here. Perhaps the tale of that might now be told?"

Harry glanced at the others, took a deep breath and told how they'd found themselves in a barrow in Middle Earth, the prisoners of barrow-wights, and only escaped due to their magic and the happy chance of it being daylight outside, and the sunlight destroying the wights for them. They'd searched the barrow for anything of use, and found the Ring on the floor. It hadn't looked much, but Harry had felt the magic and decided to take it with him. He left out the part where he and Draco had nearly come to blows over who got to carry it.

He then described how they'd found abandoned ponies with supplies, and Luna had then told them what had happened and that these ponies' owners were now in their time. With no option but to try and find civilisation somehow, they'd set out and eventually found the town of Bree, where they'd found Aragorn... and at least two of the Nine. Aragorn had persuaded them to come with him to Rivendell, where they might meet Elrond and Gandalf, who might be able to find them a way home. They'd mostly remained hidden, but they'd been ambushed too at Weathertop, and Draco had been mortally wounded after taking a knife-blow meant for Harry.

"That's not how I remember it," Ginny muttered in Harry's ear. Aragorn also felt the need to provide a more detailed explanation of events.

"I believe the Ringwraiths were magically influencing Harry's mind, trying to get him to put on the Ring. That would place him half in the wraith-world himself so they could see him better and strike. They nearly succeeded, prevented only by Draco jumping on Harry and trying to wrestle the Ring away from him. In the confusion, the Morgul-blade meant for the Ring-bearer struck young Draco instead. It is a near-miracle he survived the trip to Rivendell."

Aragorn went on to describe their flight through the wilderness, and how they'd found that the only thing keeping Draco alive was the mark of allegiance the Dark Lord of the future had burnt on to his skin that was fighting Sauron's power. It kept him alive just long enough for them to encounter aid in the form of Glorfindel and Arwen, who knew enough healing arts between them to prevent him succumbing. They had travelled together as fast as they could manage until they reached the Fords of Bruinen, where the Nine were waiting for them. Arwen, Harry and Draco had ridden for the Fords at full speed and only just made it over before the Nine came after them. Fortunately, once over the river, they came under Elrond's influence, and Rivendell's protective barriers kept the Nine out.

"Indeed, such was the force of the water, I believe they will have been swept clear back to Mordor," Aragorn laughed.

"But they're not dead, are they?" asked Harry, feeling that was too good to be true. Gandalf shook his head.

"Indeed not, young Harry – they are defeated only and will no doubt, as Aragorn says, have had to return to Mordor. Certainly their steeds are mortal and would not have survived, so they are without mounts at least."

"I can confirm that," said Elrond. "I've had scouts along the river searching for traces of them – we've found bodies of some of the horses, and a few cloaks. I do not think we need fear the Nine for now. But they will be back as long as the Ring remains here, have no doubt of that."

Boromir had also been staring at the Ring, his face thoughtful. "Much is now clearer to me," he said, stroking his beard. "But still I do not understand how this Gollum creature came by the Ring. For there are many years between finding and losing, many miles between Anduin and Hithaeglir. How do we know this truly is the Great Ring?"

"Come now, Boromir," said Gandalf. "Does Gloin's word and the pursuit by the Nine not persuade you that this is dearly sought by the Enemy? It is a ring, and can only be one of the Great Rings to be so wanted by him. It is not one of the Three, they are held safe by the Elves. Nor one of the Nine – the Nazgul have those. The Seven are lost or destroyed, and besides, each ring had its own stone or other adornment – the One alone was plain, like this one. Or so at least Saruman had told me in fairer days. However, he also said to me that it would never be found again in Middle Earth, and this I believe was to dissuade us from the search, so that we would not find it before he did. Many years did I wait, until I became aware of many spies around the Shire and began to fear that the Enemy knew more than we believed. Then I desired to know how Gollum came by this Ring, and I searched in vain but found nothing. So I called on the Dunedain to guard the Shire and opened my heart to Aragorn, Isildur's heir."

Aragorn took up the story. "Gandalf and I searched the Eastern wilderness, from the Grey Mountains in the north to the very reaches of Mordor. We found nothing, but we heard rumour of him in the south and believed he had certainly been that way. Then Gandalf recalled another means of establishing the Ring's identity, and he left for Gondor to find out more."

Gandalf then described how he had recalled that Saruman had spoken of the One Ring being plain aside from marks set on it by Sauron that someone skilled enough might read. Saruman had never seen the Ring himself, so how would he know? Only one person other than Sauron had ever held the One Ring before it was lost... and that was Isildur. Gandalf had, on realising this, left for Minas Tirith to see if there was a record left there regarding the Ring that Saruman might have seen, and despite a cool welcome from Denethor, had been able to search the libraries of Gondor and uncovered a scroll written by Isildur himself before he marched north after the final battle with Sauron. In it he described the Ring and the writing on it, which could only be seen if the Ring were set in a fire – the letters were Elvish but the tongue was that of Mordor. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them.

"I have placed that very Ring in a fire, Frodo's fire in Hobbiton, and I have seen the writing for myself," said Gandalf, his voice low. "Truly, this is the Ring. And if that were not enough, after I had left him, Aragorn had found Gollum and brought him a prisoner to Mirkwood, handing him over to the Elves there. Word was sent to me and I rode there and spent many long hours with the creature. Long and weary, but not fruitless. I learnt that he had found it in the Anduin, not far from the Gladden Fields where Isildur fell, and that he had possessed it many years, many more years than one of his kind should have lived. The Ring had extended his life, and only the Great Rings have that power. This is the One Ring, Boromir."

"It is indeed," said Elrond, his face troubled. "But now we have it, what do we do with it? The Enemy must surely know soon that we have it – the Nine pursued it to our very door."

"That and more," said Gandalf. "Gollum had indeed been to Mordor, and it is clear all he knew was forced from him. The Enemy knows it is found, knows it was in the Shire for a long time, and when the Nine finally arrive back in Mordor, he will know it is here."

"Aie, it is worse than you think," said Legolas, looking horribly guilty. "It is said that Gollum is held prisoner in Mirkwood at the court of my father. My confession is this – Gollum has escaped."

"Escaped?" Aragorn cried. "How is this possible? Are your dungeons not secure?"

Legolas visibly quailed at Aragorn's wrath. "My lord, forgive me. It was not lack of watchfulness that betrayed us, rather over-kindliness – and that more is known of our doings than we would wish. Night and day, we watched him, though many of us grew weary of the task. Gandalf had bade us hope for his cure, and we had not the heart to keep him penned underground at all times. So we would let him out into the forest on the fairer days, and we even let him climb a tall tree that stood separate from the others. One day he did this, and refused to come down. We set a guard at the foot of the tree and waited until nightfall. Night fell, and with it, Orcs assailed us, many Orcs out of the fortress of Dol Guldur. We fought them off, but we found his guards slain and Gollum gone. We do not believe it was a coincidence. We followed the Orcs for many miles, but they drew close to Dol Guldur, and it was no longer safe for us to follow. My lords and ladies, we offer our humblest apologies."

"Well, there is no help for it, he is gone. What he will do, only he knows," sighed Gandalf. "We can only make our own plans. And the question is, what do we do with the Ring?"

All eyes turned to the Ring. What, indeed, to do with it?

"It can't stay here forever, can it?" said Hermione softly. "I mean, you could keep the Nine out but how long could you resist Sauron's entire army? And do you have any reinforcements?"

Elrond shook his head. "No, Hermione. The only power that can withstand Sauron's might for long is here, or in the woods of Lorien, or at the Grey Havens in the West. I have not the strength to hold out forever and nor have they."

"We really only have two options," said Glorfindel. "Send it over the Sea or destroy it."

"The Valar will not take it," said Elrond. "This is very much a matter for Middle-Earth to decide. Gandalf, you have said it cannot be destroyed by any craft here in Rivendell?"

Gandalf nodded. "Your hottest forges will not melt it, nor will any magic I can devise."

"What if we were to cast it into the depths of the Sea, and so make Saruman's lies come true?" Glorfindel asked.

This time, it was Luna who shook her head. "Absolutely not, there are things in the Deep that would be worse than Sauron if they got the Ring. Also, seas and lands change – the lands in our time are much, much different. We can't risk it resurfacing in our time, it has to be destroyed now!"

Harry stared at Luna in surprise. He'd never seen her so alert and passionate about anything before. She was right too – if this Ring was not destroyed now, it might still be around in their own time... and the thought of Voldemort getting his hands on it was too awful to contemplate.

"But we've already heard that we have no means here of destroying it," said Glorfindel. "So what are we to do?"

Elrond stared at the Ring, more grave than Harry had ever seen him. "There is only one way to unmake the Ring – and that is to do what Isildur should have done at the dawn of this Age. It must be taken back to Mordor and thrown into the fire of Orodruin."

"Mordor?" Boromir gasped. "You – you cannot just walk into Mordor! There is evil there that does not sleep! Not with ten thousand men could you do this! It is folly to even think it! Why, why are hiding or destroying our only answers? Can we not make use of this thing? If it has the power you say it does, why can we not take it and use it to overthrow him?"

"Boromir, we cannot!" Elrond sighed. "It is wholly Sauron's, made by him and for him alone – none can wield it at will unless they possess power of their own. And for those that do, there is a greater peril – the Ring corrupts. No matter how noble one's intentions, all things done with the Ring's power turn to evil in the end. I fear to take the Ring to hide it. I will not take it to wield it."

"Nor I," said Gandalf. Boromir bowed his head.

"Then so be it; Gondor will fight with what she has. We have the Sword that was Broken – we will have to trust that its wielder has inherited more than just a title and heirloom from Isildur." Boromir glanced at Aragorn, still a little sceptical. "Still I say – this quest to Mordor is folly."

"Nevertheless, when all other courses have been discounted, the one that remains is the one to take," said Gandalf. "The only motive the Enemy knows is greed and lust for power – he will not think that any, having taken the Ring, will think to destroy rather than use it. If it is folly, so be it – it will be as a cloak, hiding us from the Enemy's sight. The chance of success is not high... but if we do not do it, we will have no chance at all."

"It could work," said Elrond. "In truth, I do not see that we have many other options. Which leaves only one pressing question – who do we send with the Ring?"

The room fell silent. No one wanted to volunteer for a suicide mission to Mordor, and none could in conscience volunteer any of their followers in their absence. Harry noticed Gloin staring impassively into the distance, Gimli fiddling nervously with his axe, Legolas suddenly feeling the urge to do something about his bowstring, Draco sitting with his arms folded, clearly sticking to his 'no quests' rule. Ginny was glancing nervously at everyone, Hermione was chewing a nail, Aragorn was stroking Anduril's hilt as if he was afraid someone might attack him in Council, and Elrond was fingering a ring on his own finger. Even Boromir, normally so proud, was looking edgy. The only person in the entire room looking calm and at peace was Gandalf, who Harry realised, was watching him. Harry swallowed nervously and looked away, catching Luna's eye. She smiled back at him, sadness in her eyes, and he remembered her words of earlier.

"They'll get to complete their destinies... but it'll be here, not in our time. … You don't have to do anything, Harry. That's the point. You're not here to be Isildur … You're here to be you."

Here to be me. Harry looked at the Ring and realised it wasn't that simple. He was who he was, the scruffy Gryffindor with the saving people thing. And here he was, and a world needed saving – both of them.

"I'll take the Ring to Mordor," he heard himself saying, "but I don't know the way."

"Harry!" he heard Hermione cry out, at the same time as Ginny said "What??" and Boromir said "But he's just a boy!"

"No," said Draco. "Absolutely not! Count me out of it, Potter, you're on your own."

Fine, didn't want you along anyway, Harry thought to himself. Nevertheless, Draco's words did hit a chord. He didn't know exactly how far away Mordor was, but it was unlikely to be a walk in the park... and he'd just volunteered to walk into it alone.

"No, he's not," said Hermione firmly, tucking her arm into Harry's. "Harry, I'm coming with you."

Harry looked up and into her smiling eyes, feeling the numbness wash away in a flood of relief that he wouldn't be alone.

"And so am I," said Ginny. To his surprise, Harry noticed she was blushing. "Er, if you want me along, that is. And if you even think about telling me it's too dangerous or worry about what my brothers would say, I will hex you right now!"

Harry could feel himself blushing in turn. "Yes, of course you can come, I'd love to have you along," he said without even thinking. Ginny beamed, and Harry realised he quite liked that expression. Obviously, he liked her anyway, but he could definitely stand to see her looking at him like that a few more times before he got tired of it. On reflection, he decided, it was probably for the best Ron wasn't here – he had a feeling things might have become awkward otherwise. As it is, there was a certain amount of foreboding twisting itself up in knots in his stomach. However, the sheer delight at having Ginny's company for the journey was cheerfully overriding it. Particularly as Ginny reacted by running up and hugging him fiercely.

Yes, Harry thought as he hugged Ginny back, this might not be so bad after all. He broke off to see Elrond, Gandalf and Aragorn all smiling, and the old hobbit Bilbo was actually applauding.

"Well done, Harry lad," said Bilbo, grinning broadly. "You do your homeland proud."

"He speaks truth," said Elrond, also impressed. "That was well volunteered, from one who is a stranger to this world. Truly, I think this may have been Elbereth's plan in sending you here."

Luna just smiled. Only partly, but it's a good start. Just the other one to work on now. She looked at Draco, still stubbornly rooted to his seat. This was going to be the difficult bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if anyone is at all surprised that Harry volunteers to take the Ring in Frodo's place... isn't that the whole point?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are being laid and put into action in both timelines – Elrond is putting the Fellowship of the Ring together, while Calenlass decides the hobbits should at least have a fighting chance against wizards, if it comes to that, a decision that has surprising consequences when Dumbledore decides to educate Frodo on the finer points of the Voldemort war. Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin are putting Ron and Pansy's plans into action, and Elrond's intrigued by Harry's scar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello all, I am back with a short chapter this time, but it does sort out a few loose ends and updates everyone with goings on at Hogwarts.
> 
> Reviews, I have reviews! Including questions, so here are answers:
> 
> KiBird : Understandable, but fear not – something will eventually happen to derail Luna's complacency. Can't give details, but she's not destined to have everything go right for her...
> 
> Independence-Day : Legolas? Physically anyway, I'm working off the movie-version – pale skin, pointy ears, tall and thin, long blonde hair, dark eyes, wearing either traditional Elven green or brown tunic and cloak, or wizarding robes in his future incarnation. I don't picture him sounding much like Orlando Bloom though, I imagine him as being lighter-voiced.
> 
> Emmettluvr27 : Calenlass detesting Lupin is probably the most controversial bit so far – but it will get resolved. From Calenlass's perspective, he was young when he left Middle Earth, and spent most of that time growing up under Sauron's shadow and anything setting off his sense of Dark magic was automatically evil and to be killed. He's spent the intervening millennia in Valinor where all is sweetness and light, and now he's back in a world where there's both evil and good, but unfortunately for him, not conveniently divided into Order supporters and Death Eaters. So he has Lupin's curse setting off his evil detection senses and really not a clue how to handle it. He will eventually get one, however.

Frodo stared at the hobbit-sized bow and arrows in his hands like he'd never seen one before.

 

“For me?” he said, confused. Calenlass nodded. “Yes. For all of you.” He indicated the weaponry currently sitting in the hands of four very bewildered hobbits.

 

“But Mr. Calenlass, sir,” Sam spoke up, “this is too fine for the likes of us! We're just hobbits. This is fancy Elven stuff! And what are we likely to be needing them for anyway? Wizarding folk aren't going to be bothered by the likes of this, begging your pardon, sir.”

 

“Oh, you don't think so?” Calenlass raised an eyebrow. He'd swapped the wizarding robes for tunic, cloak and leggings in various shades of green, and the glasses that he didn't really need in the slightest had disappeared. His blond hair was braided back, leaving the ear-tips clearly visible and with it, the Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had metamorphosed into the Elven warrior he really was. Presently they were all gathered in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, Calenlass sitting cross-legged on a fallen tree trunk while the hobbits stood around looking slightly awkward.

 

“He's got a point, Professor,” said Merry. “I've seen the way this lot use magic, including a few fights after hours when the teachers weren't looking, and they'd wipe the floor with us. No offence, like.”

 

“All the more reason to know how to fight,” said Calenlass. He nodded at the swords and archery gear he'd given them. “Sam, you're absolutely right, they're Elven-ware, forged by mighty Elven-smiths of old.. I brought them back with me when I returned from the West.”

 

All four exchanged glances, not quite able to keep the smirks off their faces, and Pippin failed utterly, bursting out laughing.

 

“Elves never used these, surely? They'd look ridiculous!”

 

Calenlass rolled his eyes. “Pippin, my dear hobbit, you are forgetting all you know of Elves. We're immortal. The great Elven-smiths of old I refer to are alive and well in the Undying Lands this very day and have not forgotten any of their skills, although it has been long since any of them have needed to forge weapons. They forged them for you. Elven weapons, shrunk down to hobbit-size. Gifts from Elbereth.”

 

That shut them up. Four sets of eyes stared down at the finely-crafted short-swords and exquisitely carved bows.

 

“I can't,” Frodo whispered. “Elbereth help me, I can't possibly take these! Me?”

 

“Yes, you,” Calenlass nodded. “Why not you? Don't feel too in awe, the smiths in question enjoyed every minute of their labour. Apparently it was highly detailed and technical work shrinking it all down and adjusting the proportions and weighting to fit a hobbit. They've not had a challenge like it in centuries. Don't feel like you don't deserve the work – truly they would be far more offended to have the fruits of their labour rejected out of hand! If you wish to repay them, take and use these weapons in your defence. For a defence you will need.” Calenlass's face grew serious. “Merry was right – as you are, you are no match for wizards. This is why I give these to you. They are Elven-made and their like does not exist in Middle Earth any more, and they will protect you. Specifically, they are proof against magic.”

 

That did get their attention. Merry and Pippin's eyes in particular lit up.

 

“What, really?”

 

“Magic, these can beat magic?” Pippin practically squealed with delight. “That's brilliant! Right, where's this Lord Voldywarts then, I can take him.”

 

This time it was Calenlass's turn to burst out laughing. “Valar, Pippin, do not get ahead of yourself! If you are in one on one combat with a wizard or witch, these blades will draw their hexes and deflect them. They will also cut through most wands nicely. The arrows too are also proof against most hexes, including fire damage and magical deflections. However, there are limitations. Up against more than one witch or wizard, and you are going to have problems – the blades will draw magic, but the stronger the magic the more it will resist and the closer your blade will have to be to the actual hex's line of fire to deflect it. One on one, or against students, you will have few problems, but outnumbered or in a melee situation, or even against a powerful and skilled adult wizard or witch, you will be as vulnerable as you ever were. In the main, your best defence is remaining small and hidden and unnoticed – as your kind ever have done.”

 

“He's got a point, Pip, we're quite good at that,” Merry nodded. It was true too – despite the cover story that they were part-goblin assistants recruited to help out Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout, the hobbits preferred to avoid contact with the student body if they could.

 

“Indeed,” said Calenlass, smiling. “But your next defence will be these weapons, and they will be that much more effective if you know how to use them. And that, my dear hobbits, is what I am proposing to teach you, if you are willing, that is?”

 

Say what you will about hobbits, as a rule most of them were neither cowards nor afraid of hard work, and even the meekest hobbit frequently has secret inner fantasies of being a brave warrior. Merry and Pippin were far from the meekest hobbits, and even Sam couldn't turn down the opportunity to learn from an Elf. And as for Frodo...

 

Frodo looked up, a smile curling his lips. “When do we start?” he asked.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

“When do we start?” Harry asked. The Council had disbanded for the day, its main decisions having been reached. The Ring-quest having been given approval, it only remained to organise it all, and a full Council was hardly necessary for that.

 

“Not for a while yet,” Elrond answered. He'd retired to his study and Harry had followed him in, wanting to find out how long he'd have to get ready before having to leave. He lowered the scroll in his hands, suddenly noticing how nervous Harry looked. “Young one, surely you are not thinking I am going to ask you to leave in the morning?” The look on Harry's face was all the answer Elrond needed and the Elf-lord had to fight the urge to laugh.

 

“Oh Harry,” he sighed. “Sit down, young one. It will be a good two months before all is in readiness for you to set out. And while the journey will be a long and hard one, you will not be alone. I had in mind Nine Walkers, to match the Nine Riders. You and your friends will be foremost among them, you and Ginevra and Hermione, and probably Luna too, even if young Draco proves unwilling. As to the others, I have not asked yet, but if Aragorn truly is going to Minas Tirith, he and the man Boromir will likely have the same road as you for many miles. I am also minded to ask for Elven and Dwarven assistance too – this affects us all and so all should be represented if possible. I believe Legolas in particular would prefer not to face his father again just yet, but if he will not join, I shall see if one of my own household will go with you. And if I am not mistaken, I think another may wish to join you.”

 

“Another?” Harry asked. “Who?”

 

“Me,” said Gandalf, entering without knocking, probably the only person in Rivendell aside from Arwen who would ever even think of daring to enter Elrond's inner sanctum unannounced. “Strong you children may be, but you aren't fully adult or fully trained, and I think it might help if you had magical assistance. Unless you'd rather I didn't?”

 

Harry couldn't stop the grin breaking out. Gandalf wasn't Dumbledore, not at all, Gandalf was far sterner and more forbidding than the Hogwarts Headmaster was. But nevertheless, Harry liked and respected him – despite the sometimes irritable exterior, Gandalf's heart was in the right place and it showed. Somehow, knowing Gandalf was coming made the whole prospect of Mordor that much less terrifying.

 

“That'd be brilliant!” Harry grinned. “Er, if that's alright with you, Elrond?”

 

Elrond smiled, waving them away. “Far be it from me to get into the habit of telling wizards what to do. Go with my blessing, Mithrandir. Now, if I might have a little peace in my own study? I have various scouting missions and an expedition to Mordor to plan.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Narcissa laid down the letter from Dumbledore containing the latest news from the Red Book. So it appears the Potter boy had taken on the Ring-quest. Not unexpected, as unexpected in fact as the two Gryffindors volunteering to go with him. Narcissa could only think herself lucky that Draco had had more sense. As it was, Luna was almost certain to go along as well, and while Xenophilus professed to be thinking of it all as a big adventure and fantastic learning experience for his daughter, Narcissa could tell that underneath all that he was terrified for her. Worryingly, this was bothering her. Why should she care what happened to the man's child, after all? And yet he'd been good to her, cooking for her, bringing her news, turning a cheerful blind eye to the long blonde hair in the shower, fetching her books and not batting an eyelid if perhaps the subject matter was somewhat on the Dark side. He'd even made a point of offering to play various magical games with her in the evenings. The hospitality puzzled Narcissa, and what was even more puzzling was that somehow, it was winning her over. Damn the man for being so likeable!

 

“You're probably glad Draco's not going along, aren't you?” said Xenophilus, the cheeriness just narrowly failing to cover the anxiety beneath.

 

“I'm rather pleased he knows where his loyalties lie,” said Narcissa, folding the parchment up. “Bless the boy, wanting to come back and rescue me. But that Boromir gentleman's absolutely right, I really didn't need rescuing.”

 

“Certainly not by him anyway,” Xenophilus said with a laugh... at least until he caught the icy glare on Narcissa's face. “Not that you wouldn't have made your own escape plans if you'd known the danger, of course. Obviously you're quite capable of taking care of yourself.”

 

“Of course,” said Narcissa calmly. “And so, for the most part, is Draco. I am not overly worried on his account, I think the Elves will look after him and get him home. Not sure I can say the same about your Luna though. Does she know what she's walking into?”

 

“She's read the Red Book, she knows what Mordor's like,” said Xenophilus, getting up and walking to the kitchen sink, turning the taps on and focusing his attention on the washing-up. Narcissa recognised a displacement activity when she saw it.

 

“She's fifteen, Xeno,” said Narcissa, softening her voice. “Are you sure she really knows the risks? We all think we're indestructible at that age, and if we don't think our actual parents will come to our rescue, we're usually not entirely cured of the belief that someone will. Xeno, has she ever truly been in danger in her entire life?”

 

“She's not led as charmed a life as Draco, if that's what you mean,” said Xenophilus. “She's gone on expeditions with me before now – that wasn't exactly five-star luxury. And don't forget she saw her mother die when she was ten.”

 

Narcissa remembered the obituary in the _Prophet_, Lucius bringing it to her personally and gently telling her the cousin she'd used to play with as a child had died, and did she need anything? She remembered scanning the page before resolutely shoving any grief to the back of her heart and tersely telling him she'd not seen Beth Marsh in years, what did she care? Not as if she was family any more, was it? Of course, it wasn't that simple, certainly not now.

 

“Mordor will be worse,” said Narcissa. “Are you sure you want to let her walk into it alone?”

 

Dishes crashed into the sink as Xenophilus started scrubbing the breakfast things clean with rather more vehemence than was strictly necessary.

 

“I don't have a choice!” Xenophilus snapped. “Besides, she's not alone, she's with the Fellowship.”

 

“You know as well as I do it'll break up before they get that far,” said Narcissa. One wave of her wand, and the dishes were clean. Xeno slammed his hands against the sink and turned to glare at her. Getting up, Narcissa reached out and placed a hand over his, ignoring the soap suds covering it.

 

“If you wanted to go back and help her,” she said softly, “I think we could do it, you and I. The Red Book is still at Hogwarts in their library. If Draco's blood could activate it... so could mine. We could go join them if you're worried?”

 

Xenophilus went very still, and looked up at her. “You... you could think it could work? What if Elbereth charmed it to only work the once?”

 

“She might,” said Narcissa calmly. “But equally, she might not. We will not know unless we try.”

 

“Oh!” Xenophilus put his hand to his mouth, laughed once and threw his arms around her. Narcissa was keenly aware that they were still covered in water and she was now covered in it all along her back but said nothing. It wouldn't take long to dry off, after all.

 

“You... you would really do that?” he asked, his voice strange. “For... for me and Luna?”

 

Narcissa nodded. “Of course! Not just for you, obviously, I'd be doing it for me and Draco too. But I'd do it.”

 

“Thank you,” Xenophilus whispered, clutching her to him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 

Narcissa smiled faintly, inwardly wondering if she'd be able to breathe again any time soon. Fortunately, he released her, still smiling, hands resting on her shoulders.

 

“I think,” he said, “that we don't need to make any immediate plans to try it out. But we will keep reading Dumbledore's letters and if things look to be getting dangerous, we'll give it a go, yes?”

 

Narcissa nodded, smiling despite herself, smiling in a way she'd not done since they'd taken Lucius away. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so helpless any more. She was, at least in part, mistress of her own destiny again... and she liked it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Someone wishing he was master of his own destiny at that moment was one Merry Brandybuck. Adventure, they'd said. Exciting, they'd said. Possibly very important in saving the world from the forces of evil, they'd said.

 

Of course he and Pippin had volunteered immediately. Pansy Parkinson certainly knew how to turn on the charm when she wanted to, and Ron Weasley's offer of lending them valuable magical objects to carry the plan out would have won them over on its own. Who wouldn't want to get their hands on wizarding magic after all?

 

However, what he hadn't banked on was winding up spending three hours in a darkened corridor sitting under a cloak of invisibility with Pippin snoozing on his shoulder, waiting for the alleged hidden door to the Slytherin Common Room to open and a wizard called Theodore Nott to come out. Admittedly watching the named dots wandering around on the map Ron had lent him had been quite entertaining at first, but even that had lost its charm after a while.

 

“What time is it, Merry?” Pippin murmured. Merry glanced down at the watch Pansy had given him – it was a bit battered and the strap was wearing out, but it was still the best watch Merry had ever owned. Come to think of it, it was the only watch he'd ever owned, but at least Merry could actually tell the time using it, which was more than some hobbits could have done.

 

“Quarter past ten, Pip. Which is twenty minutes since you last asked and does mean we've been here for three hours.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Pippin muttered. He'd heard Ron use it and adopted the expression for his own. “Merry, are you sure this Nott kid's really as bad as Pansy makes out? If this is some prank on us to see how long she can get the hobbits to sit out here for...”

 

“Ron wouldn't have lent us these if there wasn't a good reason,” said Merry, fingering the parchment, charmed by Pansy to glow in the dark so you could read it. “You heard him, they're his mate Harry's family heirlooms from his dad. He's not going to give those out unless it's important.”

 

“Merry, my shoulder hurts, my back's stiff and I can't feel my arse any more. You're not telling me anyone would have noticed if we'd gone back to our rooms and followed the map from there?”

 

“We would not have followed the map, we'd have eaten chocolate and sat around playing games all night. And I'm not playing you at that Monopoly game again, you're a terrible loser and you're not much better when you win.”

 

“Ah, you're just annoyed still cause I beat you- mmph!” Merry had placed a hand over Pippin's mouth. Pippin tried to protest... until the door to the Slytherin Common Room opened, green-tinged light bathing the corridor as two teenage boys stepped out. Pippin fell silent immediately, very aware that both boys were built like trolls and capable of smashing him into the ground even without magic. He fingered the thin fabric of the cloak draped over them both. Suddenly it didn't feel like such a strong defence any more. Still, it seemed to work – both boys walked past them without even noticing. As soon as they'd gone, Pippin let out a sigh of relief he'd not realised he'd been holding in.

 

“Who were they?” he whispered.

 

“Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle,” Merry whispered back. “Pansy reckons they're her Draco's old friends, but now they're hanging with Nott.”

 

“Should we follow them, do you reckon?”

 

Merry shook his head. “Only on the map. It'll show us where they go and who they meet. From what Pansy says, they're not really bright enough to be doing anything too complicated.”

 

Merry had a point there, Pippin conceded, and besides, they could always try tracking them another evening. And so they waited. Ten minutes later, they were rewarded by a third boy stepping out of the common room. This one, while not as stockily built as the other two, radiated an air of menace made all the more sinister by the sense of calm competence underlying it. It only took a glance at the map to confirm this was the boy they were seeking – Theodore Nott.

 

Without a word, both hobbits waited until he'd gone round the corner before getting to their feet as quietly as they could manage and following after him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“You wanted to see me, Headmaster?” Frodo asked nervously. The summons had been unexpected, if polite, and despite being picked up by Calenlass, who'd assured him it was nothing to be concerned about, Frodo was still anxious. Wizards were wizards after all, and Dumbledore was not Gandalf, despite the superficial similarities. He couldn't imagine he'd done anything horribly wrong personally, but you could never tell. Unless Merry or Pippin had done something... but they'd have confessed to him at least, surely?

 

Seeing a stone goblin-esque creature spring to life to let him past was also not something you saw every day, and the fact that the portraits on the wall were all staring at him and _whispering _and he'd definitely caught the words _hobbit _and _Baggins _in there, and Frodo was one nervous hobbit.

 

“Ah yes, Frodo my lad, come in, come in, take a seat.” Dumbledore waved his wand and a chair pulled in to sit in front of the old wizard's desk, shrinking to hobbit-size as it did so. “I've taken the liberty of sending for tea and cakes, please feel free to help yourself.”

 

The tray was sitting on the Headmaster's desk, but as soon as Frodo had sat down, the chair's legs automatically increased in height until Frodo found himself sitting at desk-height.

 

“Th-thank you, sir,” he managed to get out. The teapot then rose up by itself and poured Frodo a cup of tea.

 

“Milk? Sugar?” Dumbledore asked, as if nothing untoward had happened, and Frodo realised with a shock that for him, it probably hadn't. For wizards, this sort of thing happened all the time. It probably wasn't even strong magic.

 

“Please could I do my own, sir?” said Frodo, his voice small and timid. He didn't think he could face the milk jug and sugar tongs moving by themselves as well. Dumbledore smiled.

 

“Of course you can, young Frodo. I keep forgetting this must all seem very strange and new to you.”

 

“Well, it's not been so bad so far, I mean, I did know a wizard back home,” said Frodo, adding milk and about five lumps of sugar, which he judged enough to keep a hobbit from fading away entirely but not being too greedy. Tea and indeed sugar had been novelties for the hobbits, but not unwelcome ones, and they had swiftly become an essential part of the hobbit diet, making up entirely for the lack of anything resembling halfway decent pipe-weed. “We've all just about got the hang of the staircases, even Sam, and the portraits are quite nice once you've got over the shock of one talking to you. The students mostly ignore us, and we're quite happy with that. Apart from Ron and Pansy, they're being surprisingly helpful.” Particularly in the matter of procuring wizarding sweets and large amounts of Butterbeer, but Frodo saw no reason to mention that.

 

“I see. And your work assisting the various staff members we've assigned you to, that's going well too?”

 

Frodo nodded. “Oh yes, sir, very well indeed.” He spent his days helping out Madam Pomfrey, who'd taken a shine to him and had taken to teaching him how to prepare the various herbs and potions she needed. Much of it required magic, of course, but you didn't need to be a wizard to know how to chop herbs or slice dead animals up or stir a cauldron and make sure it didn't boil over. It wasn't much different from cooking, and any fool hobbit knew how to cook. Similarly, Sam was helping Professor Sprout out with her less dangerous plants, and once you'd learnt the safety precautions and got used to plants moving on their own, gardening was gardening, as Sam liked to say. Merry and Pippin were probably having the most interesting time of it helping Hagrid out, but so far neither of them had come home with any serious injuries. Merry liked to joke that they were both most at risk from getting stiff necks from looking up to Hagrid all the time.

 

“And your lessons with Professor Calenlass, they are going well too?”

 

That did get Frodo's attention. “How did you know... oh. Calenlass told you, of course.”

 

Dumbledore nodded. “I am Headmaster of this school and have been for many years. I assure you, very little goes on in these walls and the grounds that I do not know about.”

 

Frodo fervently hoped that that did not extend to the secret ale-brewing experiment Merry and Pippin had set up behind Hagrid's cottage, nor to Sam's secret mushroom forays in the Forbidden Forest. Mercifully, Dumbledore made no mention of either.

 

“Not even Calenlass professes to know why you were brought here. Indeed, it is possible that there was no reason, other than to counter-balance the witches and wizards that needed to be sent back to Middle Earth. However, I believe it as likely as not that the four of you are here for a reason, and so I was more than happy to allow Professor Calenlass to train you in the use of arms. For these are dangerous times, Frodo, and I wouldn't want harm to come to any of you if it can be avoided.”

 

“It can't be more dangerous than Middle Earth,” said Frodo, shuddering at the memory of the Black Riders... and Old Man Willow... and the Barrow-wights... and all that within a day of the Shire.

 

“Indeed not, and the Ring burden is no longer yours to carry,” said Dumbledore. “I imagine you must be relieved.”

 

Frodo hesitated, before nodding. Sometimes he still dreamed of the Ring and the habit of reaching for it to see if it was still around his neck wasn't entirely gone. It would have been wrong to say he missed it exactly, but all the same, it had left its mark.

 

“Yes, I imagine escaping your own war must be profoundly relieving,” said Dumbledore. “Alas that you have walked straight into ours. Tell me, what have you heard so far about the goings-on?”

 

“Not an awful lot,” said Frodo. “No one really wants to talk about it. But I do know there's this dark wizard called Voldemort, but no one wants to say his name – Calenlass and you are the only ones who ever do. And his followers are called Death Eaters, and they're trying to take over the wizarding world. They don't like Muggles or witches and wizards related to them or who want to protect the Muggles from magic. And they're quite prepared to kill anyone who gets in their way.”

 

“An admirable summary,” said Dumbledore. “You have picked up much in the few weeks you've been here. However, I feel that in order to know quite what you've been let in for, it's only fair that you should know the whole story. Far more than I was ever able to tell poor Harry. Let me begin at the beginning....”

 

And so Dumbledore proceeded to explain the whole story, starting with Voldemort's rise to power and defeat by the infant Harry, Harry's Hogwarts years and Voldemort's second coming.

 

Frodo listened in mixed fascination and horror. “And that's what you're up against,” he said softly. “I don't envy you, he sounds terrifying.”

 

“He is certainly dangerous,” Dumbledore agreed. “But I believe that it is our choice whether to fear him or not, and choosing to fear him gives him a power he does not deserve. However, I have not told you everything yet, my dear hobbit. Why, I've barely got to the interesting part! Allow me to show you my Pensieve...”

 

He proceeded to do just that, and Frodo got to experience powerful magic first hand, witnessing Dumbledore's early encounters with the young Tom Riddle, and the Gaunt family he'd descended from. He also got to see another memory of Riddle asking the then Potions Master Slughorn about something called Horcruxes.

 

“We're lucky to get this memory intact, the first version Slughorn had clearly tampered with to show himself in a better light. We have Calenlass to thank for obtaining an intact version. Apparently it is very difficult for humans to lie to the Eldar, especially when one has shared an entire bottle of Firewhisky with you and has been singing of the Undying Lands all evening.”

 

Frodo smiled at that – it was the only thing all evening that had been worth smiling at. As for the rest...

 

“He's really killed seven people?” Frodo asked.

 

“Alas, my boy, he's likely killed many more than that,” Dumbledore sighed. “But yes, he's murdered seven people for no other reason than to ensure his own immortality and destroyed his own soul in the process.”

 

“And he can't be killed, can't be stopped, until we find all these Horcuxes and destroy them?” Frodo felt appalled at the very thought. “Do we know how? And what are they all?”

 

“Well, the good news is that one is already destroyed – it was the old diary that Harry destroyed in his second year here. And I recovered another this summer.” Dumbledore reached into his pocket and placed something on the table. Frodo peered over and recoiled to see sitting before him a small golden ring.

 

Despite the fact it had a stone and the One Ring never had, Frodo couldn't help but back away. Dumbledore nodded, his eyes sad.

 

“Yes, Frodo, I'm afraid another ring is involved. I would have destroyed it this summer, but Calenlass advised me not to, the attempt would likely kill me. Horcruxes are not an easy thing to destroy, no indeed.” Dumbledore stared intently at Frodo. “But not impossible.”

 

Frodo stared at the ring, remembering the other one he'd carried and feeling twin waves of hatred and loss well up in him. He could feel the same sense of evil rising from this one too. Shaking, he picked it up and stared at it.

 

“Apart from being a Horcrux, does it have any other powers?” Frodo asked. “Was it magical before Voldemort took it?”

 

“I do not know for sure,” said Dumbledore. “There is a legend the stone in it is the mythical Resurrection Stone that lets you speak with the dead... but I have not tried it myself. With a sliver of Voldemort's soul in it, I think attempting necromancy with that ring would be most unwise.”

 

“I've no intention of doing anything of the sort,” said Frodo, feeling a wave of loathing for all things ring-shaped. He would destroy it himself if he could... and then he remembered the Elven sword at his belt, worn always just in case. A gift from Elbereth, come from the Undying Lands... proof against wizarding magic. He leapt off the high stool and placed the ring on the floor in the centre of the office.

 

“Professor,” said Frodo calmly, drawing his sword, “if you could put up a powerful Shielding Spell of some sort around me and the ring, I'd be very grateful.”

 

Dumbledore smiled and lifted his wand, a blue sphere appearing around ring and hobbit. Calenlass had not been wrong about this species' toughness and bravery, it seemed. Frodo knelt by the ring, staring at it, before raising the Elven blade and bringing it down in one swift motion. Metal struck metal, and an explosion of dazzling light sent Frodo flying until he collided with the shield and sank to the floor, dazed but mercifully still alive. The ring lay in two pieces on the floor, cloven neatly in two, the stone broken. Green smoke rose up from it, twisting briefly into what looked like a face screaming, before fading away. Scarcely able to believe what he'd just seen, Dumbledore lifted the shield spell and raced to Frodo's side.

 

“Frodo, my lad, are you alright?”

 

“I think so,” Frodo whispered. “Did I manage it?” He dragged himself to a sitting position with Dumbledore's help.

 

“You did,” said Dumbledore, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “That was well done, Frodo! I was not expecting that. You hobbits are indeed remarkable creatures.”

 

“Thank Calenlass and Elbereth, they had the sword made for me,” said Frodo, climbing to his feet. He kicked at the lifeless remains of the Horcrux ring. “I think I have had quite enough of evil magic rings for one lifetime.”

 

“I cannot fault you for that, Frodo,” Dumbledore laughed. “Here is hoping that we are able to dispose of the others as easily.”

 

Frodo sheathed the Elven sword, silently thanking it for a job well done. “Well, if you need me to help, let me know, I'll happily do another one. Let Sam, Merry and Pip know too, they'd be a bit upset if they didn't get a go.”

 

“I shall be sure to keep that in mind,” Dumbledore promised, leading Frodo by the hand to the fireplace, where two armchairs and a small table seemed to have appeared as if by... well, it probably was magic, to be honest, Frodo wondered why he was even surprised by this stage. Climbing into one of them, he was only too pleased to be rewarded by hot cocoa, cakes and a small sip of Firewhisky to steady his nerves. He could get used to this whole hero business.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Harry, may I have a word?” Elrond asked, voice mild enough... but Harry knew the Elf-lord well enough by now to know that conversation-openers like that were always more than they seemed.

 

“Of course,” said Harry, getting to his feet and nodding to Ginny as he left the card game. Middle-Earth didn't have playing cards, not until Draco had improvised and designed a deck. It was actually surprisingly well done, Harry hadn't known Draco could draw that well... but its worth as an artistic piece was being undermined by the fact that almost as soon as the ink was dry, Draco had set about teaching Elladan and Elrohir how to play poker. Word had soon spread, and now Arwen, Tathariel, Legolas, Gimli, Luna, Ginny and Boromir had joined with them and formed a regular little gaming set. So far, the Elves were dominating the games overall, but no one was getting it all their own way, and Luna in particular appeared to be doing quite well. Harry occasionally played with them, but usually it was more fun just to watch.

 

“Is everything alright, Lord Elrond?” Harry asked, following him away from the after-dinner gathering. “We haven't done anything wrong, have we? It's not the cards, is it? Because that was all Draco's work, that...”

 

“It is not about the cards, Harry,” said Elrond with a smile. “After all, we must have something to occupy our days with, must we not? No, it's about that scar of yours.” He reached his study door and held it open, motioning for Harry to go in.

 

Harry took a seat in a chair by the fire, surprised at the question. He wasn't used to people asking about it – it wasn't as if the entire wizarding world didn't know how he came by it, after all.

 

“What about my scar?” he asked, as Elrond sat across from him.

 

“I was wondering if you could tell me more about how you came by it,” said Elrond. So Harry told him everything he knew about that fateful Halloween when Voldemort had killed his parents and tried to kill him too. Elrond listened with interest, asking particular questions about the Killing Curse, and the order in which events had occurred that night. Harry did his best to answer, but some of the questions were a bit esoteric for him.

 

“If I can ask, Lord Elrond, why do you want to know all this? This can't have anything to do with your war, can it?”

 

Elrond shook his head, looking only slightly embarrassed. “No, no, it does not, Harry, you are quite right. But Gandalf and I both sensed something about that scar when we first saw it, something Dark and not quite right. We thought it might be the Ring at first, but when you took the Ring off at the Council, we could still sense it in you, and I think it has something to do with your scar. It was made with Dark magic, one of the darkest spells your world knows, and that spell should have killed you, but did not. Your life was saved by your mother's sacrifice, you say, but is it possible the failed spell lives on in you – that your scar contains a fragment of Dark magic still?”

 

Harry went very still. The thought had never occurred to him before, but it made perfect sense. Part of Voldemort's magic lodged in his forehead... the thought made him queasy.

 

“It would explain a lot,” said Harry quietly, remembering all the visions of Voldemort and scar pain he'd had, the ability to speak Parseltongue which only ran in Voldemort's family. He found himself explaining it all to Elrond, telling him everything. Elrond listened throughout, his face becoming grim.

 

“That does sound awfully like a part of him, or his magic at least, is trapped in your scar,” said Elrond. “Harry, by your leave, if you are willing... I can remove it?”

 

“Could you?” Harry asked, hope flooding him. Elrond nodded.

 

“Certainly, if I can remove a piece of Morgul-blade from Draco, I can remove the sorcery from your scar, if you will let me.”

 

“I'd like that,” said Harry. “When is good for you?”

 

“Lean forward,” was all Elrond said. Harry did so and felt Elrond's ring touch his scar. As it did so, his scar exploded in pain. Harry heard himself screaming, his scar feeling like it was on fire. It seemed to go on forever, and then the ring was dragged away. Harry heard a popping sound and felt something that felt almost solid being wrenched from his skull... and then he was himself again, sitting in Elrond's chair, his forehead throbbing. Harry reached up and ran his fingers across his skull, feeling for the familiar outlines of the scar... and felt nothing. His skin was as smooth as if he'd never been cursed. He looked up to see Elrond shaking his hand. Smoke was rising from Elrond's ring, and the Elf looked pale.

 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked. Elrond nodded.

 

“Are you?”

 

“I think so,” said Harry. “How do I look?”

 

“Your forehead looks red and sore, but not seriously so. I believe that will have subsided by morning though.” Elrond looked exhausted but had managed to muster enough energy for a smile. “We were not mistaken about the Dark magic though – whatever was in there was weak but no less malignant for all that, and it put up a fight. But it is gone, have no fear of that, it went up in green smoke.” He patted his ring. “Whatever it was, it met a greater power today.”

 

“Your ring,” Harry stared at it, looking at it properly for the first time, and he realised it was no ordinary ring. “You're a Ring-bearer too – that's one of the Three!”

 

Elrond nodded. “It is Vilya, the strongest of the Three, a ring of Light and Preservation. It will drive out Darkness wherever it meets it, although its power is not absolute. Nevertheless it healed Draco, and now it has healed you.”

 

“Could it destroy the One Ring as well?” Harry asked hopefully, although in his heart he knew what the answer must be. Indeed, Elrond had started shaking his head as soon as Harry asked the question.

 

“No, Harry. One Ring to Rule them all, remember. The One Ring can command the others – if I tried using Vilya to destroy it, the One would fight back and probably destroy me in the process. Believe me, if I had the power, I would have used it by now. As it is, Vilya is best put to use keeping Rivendell safe while it can.”

 

Harry lowered his eyes. He'd expected no other answer, but the disappointment was still fairly crushing. Elrond saw this and got to his feet, holding out his hand.

 

“Come, Harry, it is late and that will have wearied you. You should go to bed, get some rest. The world will look brighter in the morning, and I shall have Silanen send some _miruvor_ as a little nightcap for you in the meantime.”

 

Harry decided that while he would prefer being told they'd found a way to destroy the One, and that he didn't have to go to Mordor any more, that would certainly do for now. Taking Elrond's hand, he allowed himself to be guided from the room.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Merry and Pippin trailed Nott through the school, only just managing to keep from being observed as they tracked him along corridors, always travelling upstairs, until they finally reached the seventh floor.

 

“How much further?” Pippin muttered. Merry nudged him in the side.

 

“Shh, Pip, this thing makes us invisible, not inaudible!”

 

“Which means?”

 

“Means he could still hear us!” Sure enough, Nott had stopped at the end of the corridor, turned around and was watching with a frown, his wand tip glowing. Shrugging, he turned around and continued on his way, turning a corner. The hobbits hurried after him, skidding to a halt as a look on the Marauder's Map told them Nott was not alone. They were about to turn into a long corridor, and Nott was standing at the near end, talking to Gregory Goyle, while a dot labelled Vincent Crabbe was at the other end. Presumably both were keeping guard. The hobbits inched closer, Merry guiding Pippin while Pippin kept an eye on the Map. Both hobbits gasped at the same time, but for entirely different reasons. Merry had glanced around the corner, staring at where the dot marked Gregory Goyle was still standing... and seen, not a troll-like male sixth year, but a small blonde girl who was barely taller than he was. Whereas Pippin had looked at the Map, and seen the dot marked Theodore Nott walk along the corridor, stop... and then disappear.

 

“Where'd he go??”

 

“That's not Gregory Goyle, surely!?”

 

'Goyle' glanced up at this, scowling. Both hobbits immediately fell silent, falling back against a wall as 'she' walked forward and looked round the corner, staring into the darkness like it would give up its secrets for the asking. However, 'she' saw nothing and returned to her guard post. Deciding they'd risked enough for now, both hobbits tiptoed away.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dumbledore closed the Red Book, hardly able to believe what he'd just read. Calenlass was sitting across the office from him, watching intently, while Snape was sitting next to him, head in his hands.

 

“Two Horcruxes gone in one night, and one of those was the one we believed Harry would have to die to destroy,” Dumbledore whispered. “I can scarce believe it.”

 

“It is the will of the Valar,” said Calenlass, eyes shining. “Did I not tell you help would be given in return for borrowing the children?”

 

“He does not have to die,” Snape whispered, still staring at the floor. Tears could clearly be seen glittering on his cheeks, but neither wizard nor Elf chose to mention the fact. Both knew that Snape would not appreciate it. “Lily's boy does not have to die, thank God.” He choked on the last word and fell silent.

 

“It is something to be thankful for indeed,” said Dumbledore. “His life is his own again, to do with as he pleases. I just hope he survives the Ring-quest.”

 

“He has survived everything else life has thrown at him,” said Snape, only a hint of bitterness in his voice for once. “Why not Mordor? The hobbit survived after all, first time around.”

 

“It is the will of the Valar,” Calenlass repeated. “It is Elbereth's divine plan – she will protect him and see him home safely, do not doubt it.”

 

“Elbereth's divine plan,” Snape laughed. “Oh good lord, to get religion and have faith in the gods at my age, you are asking too much, my friend.”

 

“Nevertheless, it is true,” said Calenlass gently. “There is nothing else you can do, Severus. Whatever Harry's fate may be, it is no longer yours to interfere with. Severus, he is out of your hands.”

 

“Yes, he is,” said Snape quietly, the realisation slowly dawning on him. “I no longer have to keep him alive while simultaneously feeling like I'm leading him like a lamb to the slaughter. I no longer have to do anything for him. His destiny is no longer in my hands, I no longer have him as my burden to bear. And I no longer have to think about what Lily would want me to do, as there is nothing I can do for her. Her son is gone, and so is she, and I can finally, finally, move on!” He sat up straight before falling back into his chair, covering his face while tears fell down his cheeks in absolute silence.

 

“Twenty years, and I am finally free of her ghost,” Snape whispered. Dumbledore said nothing, and Calenlass squeezed Snape's shoulder.

 

“Yes you are,” he said. “What will you do with your freedom?”

 

“Nothing yet, I've a war to fight,” said Snape, drying his eyes and reaching for another tumbler of Firewhisky. “But when that's over... I will finally have a life worth living for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Two Horcuxes in one chapter, go me! Appreciate it may seem a little fast-paced, but the bulk of the action is in Middle Earth, so I need to start getting the Horcruxes out of the way!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy and Ron do some investigating into what Nott's up to, but things go badly wrong when Pippin makes an unexpected find. Meanwhile, it's time for the Fellowship to set out, but will Draco go with them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many apologies for the lateness of this, RL went kinda nuts with uni work and the like. Anyway, the next instalment is ready for your reading pleasure.

“This corridor, was it?” Pansy asked, leading the way into the seventh floor corridor Merry and Pippin had described.

“That's it,” said Merry. “We came up from this end, and there was Goyle at this end, Crabbe at the other end according to the map, but we couldn't really see him from here, and Nott in the middle. Then he disappeared.”

“But that's not the weird bit,” Pippin chimed in. “The map said Goyle was right here -” he ran to stand on the spot where Goyle had been, “but it wasn't the boy we we'd seen leave Slytherin. Wasn't even a boy, it was a girl. With pigtails! The Map isn't broken, is it?”

Both hobbits and Pansy turned to look at Ron expectantly. Sam and Frodo, standing behind him, were also watching him, although given they'd only just found out about the entire escapade of the previous night barely half an hour previously, weren't looking quite so judgemental.

“Of course it works,” said Ron irritably. The Map was almost all he had left of Harry, and he didn't like hearing it doubted any more than he'd have liked people calling Harry's abilities into question. “It'll give you anyone's real name, even if they're calling themselves something else, and even if they look like someone else. That was Goyle you saw, he was just in disguise.”

Pippin shook his head. “No, that was definitely a girl. It wasn't a boy in a dress. I can tell the difference! And take that look off your face, Frodo Baggins, I was very drunk at that party, it did not count.”

Ron looked at the snickering hobbits, curious to know the story behind that, but also keen to get on with the investigation. Making a mental note to ask Sam and Frodo later, he motioned for them to be quiet.

“It's a magic disguise,” he said. “There's a potion called Polyjuice, and if you put someone's hair in it and drink it, you look like them, exactly like them. I reckon that's what they were using so no one would know it was them. Pansy, reckon Nott's up to making it?”

Pansy nodded. “He's not bad at Potions, although Draco was better. If he's taken over something from Draco, there might have been some left stockpiled even if Nott can't make it himself.”

“But that doesn't explain why this Theodore Nott is having this corridor guarded and why he disappeared here,” said Frodo. “What's he up to?”

“Well, that's what I'm trying to find out,” said Pansy. “Merry, you say he vanished – just into thin air? Was there any sound or smoke or light? Did you see where he went on the Map?”

Merry and Pippin both shook their heads. “We didn't see anything, Goyle was in the way.”

“He disappeared off the Map,” said Pippin. “One minute he was in the corridor, next the dot had vanished. We don't know what happened, other than that he was here one minute, gone the next.”

Alarmed, Pansy looked up the corridor as if it could swallow her up next... and then she noticed the tapestry with the dancing hippos on it.

“Ron,” she said, frowning, “wasn't it near here that your little club was having its meetings last year?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, a smile creeping across his face as he realised what was going on. “And I think I know where Nott was. Come on, follow me.” He walked briskly over to where the tapestry was, and began pacing.

_I want to go to the place Theodore Nott was last night, I want to go to the place Theodore Nott was last night, I want to go to the place Theodore Nott was last night, come on, please work!_ Once, twice, three times and then Ron looked up, breath caught in his throat.

“Bloody hell, Merry, there's a door! That was never there before!”

“What, a wizard being able to open a secret magic door?? There's a thing, Pip.”

“Ron, you did it, that's fantastic!” Pansy cried, rushing up to him, and for a horrible moment, Ron thought she was actually going to hug him. Fortunately, Pansy remembered in time who and where she was and stopped, coughing and scratching the back of her head.

“Well done, Ron,” she said calmly. “Shall we?”

“Ladies first,” said Ron, holding out a hand, but both children were beaten to it by the hobbits crowding in to the entrance.

“By the Stars, Frodo, have you ever seen such a thing?” Sam whispered, as they all stepped inside. Frodo shook his head, staring at the treasury of things in front of him.

“This must be worth a fortune,” he whispered, staring at the piles of glittering trinkets. Even Merry and Pippin.

“Let me see. Lumos,” said Pansy, following behind them. Behind her, Ron stepped inside and closed the door behind them, before casting his own Lumos.

“Bloody hell, Pansy, this room's massive!” Ron whispered. “How are we going to find what Nott was after in here?”

Next to him, Sam sneezed, the sound echoing around the room and making them all jump.

“Sorry,” he muttered, blushing. “Dust makes me sneeze.”

“Dust,” whispered Pansy, “that's it! Everybody stay still and look for where there isn't dust; that's where Nott went.”

Sure enough, while there was dust everywhere else, the pathway ahead was relatively clear. With Pansy leading the way, they followed the trail. It finally came to an end in front of a large cabinet. While the sides and top were coated in dust and cobwebs, the front was suspiciously clean.

“So he's been working with this,” said Pansy thoughtfully. “I wonder why – Pippin, no!” She grabbed his hand before he could open the door.

“What is it?” Ron asked, arriving to stand behind her. He looked the cabinet over. “Hey, I remember this, it's the Vanishing Cabinet that used to be on the first floor!”

“I know it's a Vanishing Cabinet, Ron, your brothers stuffed Montague into it last year!” Pansy snapped.

“Yeah, they did-” Ron noticed the fury on Pansy's face and hastily wiped the smile off his own. “Yeah, they did, that was awful of them, appalling behaviour, I'm ashamed to be related.”

“He was in St. Mungo's for weeks,” said Pansy, still glaring. She turned her attention back to the Vanishing Cabinet. “No wonder it got moved up here, the thing's lethal. Question is, what does Nott want with it?”

“Dunno, what does he want to make disappear?” Sam asked. To that, no one had an answer.

“What can it make disappear?” Frodo asked. “Do we know what its limits are, how it works?”

“Kind of,” said Ron. “They're made in pairs, both carved out of the same tree – you put something in one and it'll appear in the other. I think this one's broken though – or the other half was destroyed – because when the twins stuffed Montague in it, he didn't go anywhere, he just went into limbo until he got out.”

“He had to Apparate out, despite the fact he'd not got his licence yet and had had all of three lessons,” said Pansy tersely. “Ended up trapped in a toilet U-bend on the fourth floor – stop laughing, Weasley, it is not funny!”

Ron and no less than three of the hobbits all stared at their feet, biting their lips and digging nails into their palms.

“No, you're right, it's not,” Ron muttered. “He must have suffered horribly. Er. Was he actually alright in the end?”

“He's back at school,” said Pansy coldly. “He's mostly fine. Apart from the nightmares, fear of the dark and claustrophobia, of course.” Her point made, she turned her attention back to the Cabinet. “So why does Theodore Nott want a broken Vanishing Cabinet? We know it can be escaped from, and I know the Dark Lord's sadistic, but he's got plenty of other torture options.”

“Maybe it's not a broken one he wants,” said Frodo, nervously fingering his collar before remembering he didn't have the Ring any more and letting his hand fall to his sword hilt instead. “Maybe he's trying to fix it.”

“That won't work if the other one's been destroyed,” said Ron. Pansy shook her head.

“No, it exists somewhere. Montague could hear things in the place the other one was, but he couldn't work out where it was. It was somewhere in England though.”

Ron and Pansy both reached the same conclusion at the same time.

“So it's somewhere in England – maybe Nott found out where the other one is.”

“And if he can get this one fixed... he'd have a secure way of getting in and out of Hogwarts, past all the defences without anyone knowing.”

Ron and Pansy stared at each other, horrified.

“You Know Who could bring an entire army through here if he wanted,” Ron breathed.

Pansy drew her wand, determined. “Then we have to destroy it now, while we've got the chance, make sure it can't happen.” She noticed Ron staring at her in surprise. “What? Just because I'm not one to outright rebel against authority doesn't mean I want the Dark Lord to be that authority.”

Ron shook his head, smiling. “I'm not complaining, I just... didn't think I'd ever hear that from you.”

Pansy looked away, blushing a little. “Don't get any ideas. Just because I don't want Draco to come back to a world where the Dark Lord's in charge and he's a traitor, doesn't mean I'm one of you.”

“No, Pansy,” said Ron, trying not to smile. However, unfortunately for them both, while they'd been having this conversation, some of the hobbits had got bored.

“Hey, Merry, look at this crown I found!”

“Pip, it's brass, it's not worth anything. Doesn't make you King of Gondor, does it now?”

“I don't know, I think it suits me,” said Pippin, brushing the dust off and placing it on his head. A chill ran up Ron's spine as he caught a glimpse of Pippin's reflection in a nearby mirror and saw the hobbit's brown eyes turn a sickly green, his face twisting into an evil sneer that had no right being on any hobbit's face.

“Expelliarmus!” Ron cried, hoping to get that sword off Pippin before the thing possessing him could do any damage.

Pippin spun round before Ron could even finish the spell, sword drawn. The spell deflected harmlessly out of the way.

“Ron, what -” Pansy began, before she too noticed Pippin's lurid green eyes and drew her own wand.

“Pippin!” Merry cried, reaching out for his friend. Frodo grabbed him and pushed him back, his own sword drawn with the other hand.

“That's not Pippin,” said Frodo, sounding calmer than he felt.

“You're right,” said Pippin calmly, and the voice coming out of his mouth was no hobbit voice, but a sinister rasp that gave them all shivers. “This is not the body I had hoped for, but it will do until I can find another – aaiiee!!” Smoke was rising from the hobbit's hand, the sword hilt starting to glow, Valinorian metal reacting to the Dark magic possessing Pippin. Glaring furiously, Pippin lifted the sword and hurled it at Ron.

“No!” Pansy cried, pushing Ron to the floor... but stepping into harm's way in the process. The sword sank into her shoulder and her wand arm went limp. Crying out, Pansy sank to the ground, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Pansy!” Ron caught her as she fell, lowering her to the ground. He looked up at Pippin, ready to try another hex... but Merry and Sam had tackled him to the ground as soon as the sword had left his hand. Sam wasted no time in knocking the tiara off Pippin's head, at which point Pippin stopped struggling and started sobbing.

“Ow, ow, my hands, my hands, they're burning!” he cried. “Help me, please, my hands!”

“How do we know it's really you?” Sam demanded, not entirely reassured.

“It's him,” said Frodo softly. He walked over to where the tiara was lying, and gently picked it up with the blade of his sword, carrying it over to a clear area of the room and setting it on the floor. “It was this, I think, it's cursed and when Pippin put it on, he got possessed.”

“That's great,” said Pansy faintly. “But I appear to be bleeding to death and I can't move my arm – could we get me to the hospital wing?”

“Hang on,” said Ron, pulling off his tie. “I'll see if I can stop the bleeding.”

Pansy shook her head. “Stupid boy,” she whispered. “You don't have time. Take the sword out of my arm...”

“But that'll make it worse!” Ron cried.

“And then cast Body-Bind on me,” Pansy finished. “It'll keep me alive long enough to levitate me out of here. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” said Ron faintly. “Yeah, I can do that. Hold still, this'll hurt.” Laying her on the ground, he pressed on her shoulder with one hand and taking a deep breath, wrench the sword out with the other. Pansy screamed as a spray of blood squirted across the room.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Ron cried, waving his wand. The spell settled on Pansy and she froze, the bleeding stopping as well.

“Is she going to be alright?” Pippin whispered, his own pain forgotten as he stared miserably at her. Ron nodded, before kneeling next to Pippin, squeezing his shoulder.

“It's OK, Pippin, it's not your fault,” he said gently. “You didn't do it, the thing possessing you did. There wasn't anything you could have done. Something like it happened to my little sister once too, and it made her do some terrible things to people. It wasn't her fault either, she was just a kid who didn't know any better. And you didn't know that thing was cursed, so it's not your fault.”

“No, but... I shouldn't have been messing with strange objects in a magical castle when I don't know what they do either, should I?” Pippin said, his face a very mask of misery.

“Well, thank heaven you've learnt something from the whole thing,” said Merry, the familiar tone of exasperation masking his relief.

“Come on,” said Ron. “We need to get to the hospital wing and get you and Pansy sorted, and then I think we need to take that cursed crown to Dumbledore.”

“What about the cabinet?” Frodo asked. Ron looked at it, before shaking his head.

“We'll deal with it later. It's not going anywhere after all.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much later, with Pansy recovering in the hospital wing, everyone else was gathered in Dumbledore's office, staring at the tiara. Pippin was there, hands bandaged and apparently well on the way to recovery – the damage had only been superficial in the end. The three other hobbits were there too, Sam and Merry still unnerved by the seats which had changed height all by themselves, and Ron had pride of place directly opposite Dumbledore with the crown lying between them on his desk. Right now, Ron rather wished this little privilege could be someone else's, particularly as both Snape and Calenlass had been summoned and were standing either side of Dumbledore, staring at the tiara intently.

Ron had just finished explaining how they had found it in the Room of Requirement and how it had possessed Pippin when he'd put it on, leading to Pansy getting injured when the sword had started to burn Pippin's hands.

“That's when Merry and Sam tackled him to the ground and got the crown off him and then he was himself again. That's how we knew the thing was cursed, so I – we- thought we should bring it to you. After Pansy and Pip got treated obviously.”

“I see,” Dumbledore murmured, running a finger along the crown's edge. “And Pippin, you don't remember any of this?”

Pippin shook his head. “No, sir, the last thing I remember was putting the crown on and next thing I know, I'm on the floor with my hands in agony and these two pinning me to the ground, and Pansy...” He stopped, not wanting to think about it any more.

“Little one, it is all right, Pansy is safe and well in the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey says she is going to make a full recovery,” said Calenlass. “Do not blame yourself, I know you would never have hurt her on purpose. If anyone is to blame, it is the fiend that cursed this diadem”

“See, it's totally not your fault,” said Ron. “It's like what happened when You-Know-Who's diary possessed my sister – wasn't her fault either.”

Dumbledore slowly lifted his head, looked sharply at Ron and then Calenlass in turn.

“Calenlass, what did you call it?”

“Diadem,” said Calenlass. “It's another word for crown, but you are an educated wizard, you surely knew that?”

Dumbledore just nodded, smiling. “And you, Ronald, you said it was a similar experience to when Lord Voldemort's diary took control of your sister. Tell me, what did Pippin say while he was under its influence?”

“That it wasn't the body he'd hoped for but it'd do – course, that's before the sword started burning him.”

“And his eyes went green too,” said Merry. “Bright, glowing green.”

“Green like the last Horcrux I saw,” said Frodo. He locked eyes with Dumbledore. “It's another one, isn't it?”

Dumbledore nodded. “It's the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw, here in Hogwarts this whole time. Or at least since 1957 when Voldemort was last here – he must have hidden it in the Room of Requirement then.”

“What – you're telling me Voldemort cursed this thing?” said Ron, backing away from it in horror.

“And what's a Horcrux?” Sam asked. He turned to look accusingly at Frodo. “And how come you know what one is and never told us?”

“Because I didn't think you'd want to, it was disturbing enough talking about it with Professor Dumbledore,” said Frodo. “Also I wasn't sure I was supposed to tell anyone.”

“The discretion on your part is admirable, but I am sure your fellow hobbits could have been trusted with the information,” said Dumbledore with a smile. Frodo for his part was equally sure that at least one of them would probably have blurted it out to someone they shouldn't, but decided to keep that to himself.

“Anyway, as Frodo, Calenlass and Severus already know, and as you have seen the effects first hand of Lord Voldemort's evil, it is time, I think, that the rest of you know. Of course, what I am about to tell you should not leave this room – with the exception, Ronald, that you may tell Miss Parkinson if you think she is trustworthy. I leave that decision in your hands.”

Dumbledore then proceeded to tell the story of how Lord Voldemort created his Horcruxes and how the diary and the ring had already been destroyed. When he came to the part where Frodo had destroyed the ring, three hobbits turned to the fourth in astonishment.

“You killed part of Lord Moxy-ports?” Pippin said, awed. “Really?”

“Really,” Frodo confessed. “Look, I really don't like rings any more, if I can't get rid of ours, I can at least get rid of theirs.”

“You could have been killed, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, wringing his hands. “You've got to promise me you won't go hacking into any more, sir, I promised Gandalf I'd see you home safe!”

“I promise, Sam,” said Frodo gently. “But we do have three others out there somewhere, plus this one, someone will have to take care of them. Who did you have in mind? We're the only ones with the Valinorian blades than can destroy them.”

“Oh Mr. Frodo sir, I weren't suggesting we left it to someone else. No, you've had enough on your plate what with the Ring and all, you leave the Orc-huskies to me. And to Merry and Pippin if they've a mind to.”

“Mind? I should say we don't mind at all, do we, Pip?”

“Stars no, in fact, I think I want to do this one right now! Stand back everybody!”

“Oh no,” Ron moaned, diving under Dumbledore's desk. He was surprised to find Professor Snape joining him there.

“Er...”

“What?” Snape asked. “You think I trust the young Took with a sword and one of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes either?”

Fortunately, neither need have worried. Dumbledore gently talked Pippin out of just swinging his sword into the tiara, and Levitated it to the middle of the floor, casting a shield around tiara and hobbit.

“And now, Mr. Took, if you please.”

Pippin drew his sword and approached the crown. There was a mighty explosion and a wave of light, and both Ron and Snape closed their eyes. There was a moment's pause, Dumbledore removed the shield, and then Pippin Took's voice carried across the office:

“Did I do it right?”

“I rather think you did, Mr. Took.”

Three hobbits cheered, and Ron emerged from under the desk to see the crown neatly sliced in two, the metal melting at the edges and smoke rising from it. Pippin, slight dazed but otherwise happy, was being mobbed by his fellow hobbits.

“We did it,” said Ron. “We did it! We got rid of a Horcrux!” He immediately ran and joined in the celebrating.

“Yes, you did,” said Dumbledore sadly. “Alas, Ronald Weasley, I very much fear that was one of the easy ones.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, when the hobbits were all in their rooms, and professors likewise off-duty, Ron Weasley donned the Invisibility Cloak and, Marauder's Map in hand, returned to the Room of Requirement. Picking his way through the junk heaps, he made his way to the Cabinet.

It wasn't there. Sure, the bloodstain was still there - _Pansy's blood, try not to think about that, Ron_ and the detritus from the fight was still scattered around the edges, but the Cabinet itself? Not a sign.

Ron thought many things. _Nott's been here, he's seen someone else was here, he's moved it, buggeration, we're doomed, there's a loophole where the Death Eaters can walk straight into Hogwarts and we don't know a thing about where it is, could my evening get any worse?_

But all he said was:

“Pansy's going to kill me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gone, what do you mean gone??” Pansy hissed. Weakened she might be, but it was the morning after now, and her fighting spirit was back. “You mean you didn't destroy it before you left??”

“Well no,” Ron admitted. “You were injured, I wanted to get you to safety first and then I got caught up explaining to Dumbledore, and...”

“It takes three seconds to cast the Reductor Charm,” said Pansy. “I was under full Body-Bind, I would have been fine, that's what the charm was invented for! And now it's gone and you don't know where, because Nott came back and moved the thing after realising someone else had got in there!” She sank back onto the pillows. “I despair of you, Weasley. Tell me they're at least questioning Nott?” She noticed the guilty look on Ron's face. “Ron? You did tell Dumbledore why we were in there in the first place, didn't you?”

Ron was now a deep shade of purple and it clashed horribly.

“Ron. What did you tell him?”

“I just said we'd gone to have a look because I'd been telling the hobbits stories of the DA and they wanted to see the Room. Snape was there, Pansy, I didn't want to tell him we'd seen Nott on the Marauder's Map heading in there!”

“WEASLEY!” Pansy shrieked. “The whole point of this little mission was to find out what he was up to and stop him. Now not only have we not stopped him, he's on to us and has gone to ground and he'll be nearly impossible to find. You-Know-Who's going to be able to invade the school and we can't stop it. It's all been a complete waste of time!” Anger faded into despair as she spoke, and she turned over, head buried in the hospital wing pillows and her back very firmly towards Ron.

Ron stared guiltily at the bed. She was quite right, it would have taken all of a minute to destroy while he had the chance and Nott's plan would have been scuppered. As it is, finding where he'd put it now was going to be near impossible, especially if, as Ron suspected, Nott had simply moved it out of and then back into the Room of Requirement, this time with instructions to store it somewhere no one else could find it. Still, they'd managed to destroy a Horcrux, it hadn't all been bad. Ron carefully checked the Muffliato Charm still held and leaned closer.

“So you don't want to know how we killed part of Voldemort's soul then?”

Pansy shivered involuntarily at his use of the name before curiosity overcame fear.

“You killed part of his soul? What... but how...” The penny dropped. “You mean, the crown?”

Ron nodded. “Was cursed by Voldemort, yes. And that's not all. Have you ever heard of Horcruxes?”

Pansy's eyes widened. “You-Know-Who had one of those?”

“Worse,” said Ron. “He had six.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, sweeping his hair back off his forehead. Six weeks after Elrond had healed his scar, and he still couldn't get used to looking at himself without it. It was a strange and unsettling thought that he wasn't marked as the Dark Lord's equal any more, an abrupt change in status from Boy Who Lived to Ringbearer.

“Looking at your face again, Harry?” Ginny called from the doorway. Without waiting for an answer, she came in anyway and sank into the chair, putting her feet up on the bed.

“Was not,” said Harry, leaping away from the mirror like a scalded cat and dropping his hands to his side, hoping he wasn't blushing too hard. Ginny laughed.

“Don't try to hide it from me, Harry, you've been staring morosely into every reflective surface going since Elrond healed you. The twins have offered to give you another scar to match if you miss the old one that much.”

Great, not only had Ginny rumbled him, so had everyone else. He'd hoped no one had really looked twice after the initial novelty value had worn off; even Draco's inevitable sarcastic comments had been limited to “pity he couldn't do anything about the rest of you while he was at it”.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked miserably, sinking on to the bed. Ginny nodded, her laughter fading.

“A bit, yeah,” she said. “Is everything alright, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “I don't know, Ginny. It's just weird, you know? I've had that scar ever since I can remember, and since I was eleven, it's pretty much defined me. The Boy Who Lived, he who was Chosen to fight Voldemort, with the scar reminding me and everyone else. Now I don't have it any more and it still feels weird. It's like I don't know who I am any more.”

“Well, as far as this world's concerned, you're the Ringbearer,” Ginny pointed out.

“Don't I know it,” Harry muttered, the Ring's weight at his neck always nagging at him. “And to make matters worse, it's Christmas Eve, but instead of hanging up a stocking and waiting for presents and Christmas dinner in the morning, tomorrow we're off to Mordor.”

Elrond's reconnaissance parties had all returned, and preparations had been completed a week or so ago. It had only remained to get the Midwinter celebrations out of the way, and now that had been done, there was no reason to stick around. Elrond had been of the opinion that winter was only going to get worse rather than better and it would be best to be over the Misty Mountains by the time the worst of it hit. Not to mention that if they left it until spring, there might not be much left of Gondor by then.

“Yeah,” said Ginny, her own mood crashing at the thought. “Mordor. Harry, what have we done?”

“Well, I've been the boy with the hero complex and you've been insane enough to volunteer to come too. Seriously, Gin, you don't have to, you can stay here if you want.”

“No fear, I'm not letting you wander off on your own, Ron'd never forgive me if I let you get hurt,” said Ginny.

“He's not exactly going to be terribly pleased at me putting you in danger either,” Harry pointed out.

“You're not putting me in danger, I'm putting myself in danger,” said Ginny firmly. “And I'm coming with you and we're going to destroy the Ring and save the world. So there.”

Harry knew better than to argue with Ginny when she was like this. Nevertheless, her optimism did have a way of cheering him up.

“Thanks, Gin,” he said, squeezing her hand. Ginny started at the touch, her face starting to go red. For a second, Harry wondered why, and then it occurred to him that he was sitting on a bed with his best mate's little sister, holding her hand. He let her go immediately and backed off, putting a respectable distance between them. For some reason, Ginny actually looked a bit downcast at this, although Harry couldn't think why.

“Er, sorry, I shouldn't have - “ he began.

“No, no, it's fine,” said Ginny awkwardly, getting to her feet. “I should be going, I promised Arwen I'd help her out with something.”

“Oh. OK.” Harry felt vaguely disappointed but couldn't have said why – after all, it wasn't like he'd never see her again. “I'll, er, see you tonight?”

Ginny nodded, smiling a little at that. “Tonight. Arwen and Draco are putting together the nearest thing they can arrange to a Christmas Dinner. Last time I saw them, Arwen was supervising the twins transplanting an actual fir tree into the main entrance hall, and Draco was teaching Hermione how to make magical paper chains.”

“Draco and Hermione, getting on? Never would have seen that one coming,” said Harry. He'd even heard Hermione complimenting him the other day, and Draco had gone from mocking Hermione's hair to standing over her and casting Straightening Charms on it for her. Apparently he hadn't spent his childhood being raised by Narcissa Malfoy without learning a thing or two about magical beauty tips. While having one's hair fussed about with by Draco Malfoy and being lectured throughout on the need to make a good impression and how appearances mattered wasn't Harry's idea of a good time, Hermione seemed to tolerate it. On being asked why she put up with it, she'd merely smiled and said that it meant he cared enough to do something about it.

“Takes all sorts,” said Ginny. “You know, he's been almost pleasant to be around since he's been here. I'm actually going to miss him.”

“Same here,” Harry agreed. He'd gone from being glad to be leaving Draco behind to wishing he was coming with them – another wand would have been useful, and there was no denying Draco could hold his own in a fight. Draco, however, had not changed his mind, and unless Luna could convince him otherwise, was going no further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No,” said Draco, levitating some tinsel into place on the large fir tree now growing happily in the Last Homely House's entrance hall. “Absolutely not, Lovegood. You are still not getting me to go on your little suicide mission to Hell.”

“It's not a suicide mission!” said Luna. She was getting into the festive spirit by wearing a red and white Santa hat that Arwen had made for her, and a pair of antlers attached to it that had once been one of Glorfindel's hunting trophies. Luna had decked them out with ribbons and a couple of glass ornaments hanging from them. Only a static Levitation Charm on the antlers kept the whole thing from crashing to the ground. “It's a quest. An adventure. You get to do heroic things and save the world! I can't really tell you much more because of spoilers and because Elbereth may have things go differently this time around, but it'll be great fun and you're almost certainly not going to get horribly murdered or anything.”

“Oh, so there's only a small chance of painful and agonising death to worry about,” said Draco, tapping his wand and watching the candles all fly into place. “That's so much more reassuring, thank you Lovegood. Apart from the fact where it's painful and agonising death we're talking about.”

“You're really not very good at this whole hero thing, are you?” said Luna, frowning.

“No, Luna, I am not,” said Draco, deftly coating the branches with a thin layer of illusory snow. “Hence why I was sorted into Slytherin and not Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.”

“Well, quite,” said Luna, annoyed. “Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder why Calenlass said it needed to be you. You've done nothing but whine and nearly get killed since you got here. I'm starting to think Elbereth made a mistake.”

“Just because she's a goddess, that doesn't make her all-powerful,” said Draco, flicking his wand and stepping back as all the candles lit up at once. “Excellent, no smoke, they'll just keep glowing all evening. Wonderful.”

“You are not even listening to me!” said Luna, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

“I'm listening,” said Draco. “I'm just ignoring you.” Luna gave an exasperated cry and stormed out, muttering some very uncomplimentary things in Sindarin as she brushed past Hermione on the way out.

Hermione did not claim to be remotely fluent in Sindarin, far from it, but she was a fast learner and she'd been surrounded by Elves for the last two months, and when two of those Elves were Elladan and Elrohir, you soon learnt the rude bits of the language.

“Draco, why did Luna just walk straight past me muttering about stubborn and infuriating horses' backsides?”

“Why does Luna do anything?” Draco asked carelessly. He glanced up as she put the wooden chest she was carrying down. “Oh good, you got the ornaments.”

“Glass Christmas tree ornaments, courtesy of Rivendell's finest craftsmen, and the magical colouring, glowing and glittering effects courtesy of me,” said Hermione. “Draco, what were you and Luna arguing about? And don't tell me you weren't, Luna's the most laidback person I know, she only ever gets like she just was after she's been talking to you.”

“I am most proud and gratified to have that effect on her,” said Draco, opening the box and nodded his approval. “Nice work, Granger. These will do nicely.” He flicked his wand and caused the little glass baubles to float up en masse, before directing them one at a time to various places on the tree.

“Don't change the subject, and where did you learn to do that?” Hermione asked. “That's quite impressive charm work.”

“Decorating the Malfoy Christmas Tree,” said Draco. “House Elves did most of the house, but Mother and Father and I always did the tree. I've been doing this for some time now.” He fell silent, growing sombre, and Hermione guessed that he was thinking of this year's Malfoy tree, if there even was one.

“Wish we'd had magic for ours,” said Hermione. “Me and my parents, we used to do the same, but we had to do it by hand. Of course our tree was smaller. And artificial – Mum didn't want it shedding needles everywhere. This year – this year I was going to use magic on it, now that I finally can out of Hogwarts, put some animations on the baubles, shimmering tinsel, magic candles, that sort of thing. Of course I can't now. It'll be just the two of them, doing it all by hand...” Hermione's voice trailed off, her eyes starting to prickle, and to her horror, she realised tears were rolling down her cheeks. Oh god no, not here, not in front of Malfoy of all people...

Then to her surprise, she felt an arm go round her shoulder and next thing she knew she was sobbing her heart out on Draco's shoulder while he stroked her hair.

“I miss them both so much,” she sobbed. “Oh god, Draco, I just want to go home.”

“I know you do,” came the surprising gentle response. “I know. They're probably sitting at home right now with the Christmas presents waiting under the tree for you, wishing you were with them too.” He was surprised when Hermione shook her head violently.

“That's just it, Draco, they're not!” Hermione cried. “After the war started... I was worried about them and didn't want them to get hurt so I wiped their memories and set them up with a new life in Australia! They don't even remember they've got a daughter, they're probably at a beach party in Sydney having the time of their lives! They don't even know I exist, and I miss them so much!” She started crying again, and Draco just held her, realising that perhaps he didn't have it quite so bad after all. At least Narcissa still knew who he was and was guaranteed to be thinking about him.

“It's not too late,” said Draco. “You could stay here, and come with me to Valinor when it's time. You don't have to go to Mordor. Elrond did say he wasn't going to hold anyone to it other than Harry.”

Hermione shook her head, breaking away from Draco, wiping her eyes. “Thank you, Draco, but I can't. I promised Harry, and he's my friend. You'd do the same if it was Blaise or Pansy, wouldn't you?” She noticed the faint blush of scarlet colouring Draco's cheeks and remembered she was dealing with a Slytherin here. “Well, all right, perhaps you wouldn't. But Crabbe and Goyle, they'd do the same for you, right?”

“Only because I told them to,” said Draco, staring at his feet. “Well, Crabbe anyway. Goyle might come without me needing to ask. What's it to you anyway?” He'd folded his arms and was now visibly bristling.

“Nothing, Draco, nothing,” said Hermione, wishing she hadn't bothered. “I'd forgotten Slytherin worked differently.”

“You have been away from home too long,” said Draco, forcing a cocky grin onto his face to hide the chink of vulnerability he'd shown earlier. “Well, think of me on the way home while you're hiking across mountains and getting shot at by Orcs. I'll even take messages if you want.”

Hermione didn't quite trust Malfoy to accurately deliver any messages she'd give him, certainly not the one for Ron anyway.

“Just tell Ron I was alive and well when you last saw me and that we'll be back soon.”

“You have a very different definition of soon to me then,” said Draco. Still, it wasn't as if his own journey would be much shorter. The land journey to the Havens involved three weeks to Bree and then the same distance again, and the sea voyage wasn't exactly short either. For all he knew, he'd be arriving at the Elven port of Alqualonde in Valinor around the same time the Fellowship were delivering the Ring to Mount Doom. Either way, it meant a nearly six month absence. Draco could only dread what he'd be going back to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The combined Christmas/farewell feast was a relatively quiet affair – only Elrond and his children, Glorfindel, Bilbo, the five Hogwarts children, and the rest of the Fellowship were in attendance. In addition to Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Luna, Gandalf had volunteered his services and Aragorn and Boromir, having the same route for many miles, were also accompanying them. The final two spaces were to be filled by one representative of the Elves and one of the Dwarves – Legolas of Mirkwood and Gimli son of Gloin. Presently, both Elf and Dwarf were sitting as far away as they could from each other, refusing to even look at the other.

“A good omen indeed, two of the company refusing to so much as exchange words already,” Boromir muttered to Draco.

“Be fair, Elves and Dwarves haven't historically got on all that well, and Gimli's father did get imprisoned by Legolas' dad. I don't think Gimli's forgiven him the whole having to escape in a barrel thing yet.” Bilbo, a born storyteller if ever there was one, had insisted on acquainting them all with the events surrounding the Finding of the Ring in great detail, and as a story involving stolen treasure, capture by Orcs, Elves, dragons, a great big battle and a magic ring could hardly be dull, they'd all listened eagerly.

“Aye, that is true. But if I hear aright, your father and Harry's were also bitter enemies, and the enmity between your house and that of the other wizardlings runs as deep as that between Elves and Dwarves. And yet you are sitting and drinking together as friends,” Boromir pointed out.

“That's different,” said Draco. “We've been taken out of our world and thrust into this one, and we're all any of us have left to fall back on. Not the same for them, is it?”

Boromir inclined his head thoughtfully. “I would say not... and yet they will have many miles ahead of them with only their companions to associate with, and assailed with danger the whole journey with only each other to rely on. The situation is not dissimilar to yours, young Malfoy. Truth be told, there is nothing like a common enemy to bind people together.”

“Well, I hope it binds you lot, or you're all done for,” said Draco, raising a goblet. Boromir raised his own and clinked it against Draco's.

“Sure you won't come with us?” Boromir asked. “You don't need to go to Mordor if you'd rather not – come with me to Minas Tirith, my father would give you a place of honour if you lent us your wand in our defence.”

It was a tempting offer, Draco had to admit. And yet... it would be even longer before he got home if he took it up.

“I can't, Boromir,” he heard himself saying with genuine regret. “I have my own family to think of.”

Boromir nodded, returning to his roast goose and chestnut stuffing. “I understand,” he said gruffly. “My mother died many years ago, but had she lived and my father died, I could never have ridden away and left her in Gondor alone.”

Something like relief broke out in Draco's heart at these words. _I'm not a complete coward for not going. Thank the Valar._

“Thank you,” he said softly. Boromir smiled.

“You and I are not unalike, young Draco,” he said. “The more I hear of Lucius, the more I am reminded of my father, and you do remind me of myself sometimes. Maybe your priorities are not those of Harry and his friends, maybe the allegiances your parents chose were questionable, but you are neither weak nor a coward.”

Draco could feel himself blushing at this and turned away before Boromir could see the tear in his eye that his words had caused. No one outside his family had ever really praised him that openly, no one who hadn't wanted the favour of the Malfoy name. He wasn't at all sure he knew how to handle it. Fortunately, he was saved from having to do so by Elrond getting to his feet for a toast.

“And so the Nine are gathered, Nine Walkers for the Nine Riders – the Fellowship of the Ring. Harry son of James, the Ringbearer, and his loyal friends Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood. Aragorn son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur and Ranger of the North, and Boromir of Gondor of the race of Men. For the Elves, we have Legolas of Mirkwood and for the Dwarves, Gimli son of Gloin. And last but certainly not the least, Gandalf the wizard to lead you all as far as he may.”

Much applause followed this. Gandalf merely nodded with a smile, accepting it as his due. Elrond waited until it had died down before continuing.

“Make no mistake, your way will be long and dangerous. The servants of Sauron are many, and their faces not always obvious. For though no sign of the Enemy has been found in the North, be sure that by now the Riders will have returned to Mordor and his spies will be abroad. Even the sky above may hold peril. However, know this – on the Ringbearer alone is this charge laid – to keep the Ring from the servants of Sauron and to let none not of the Company handle it, and only them in direst need, and to take it to Mordor to be destroyed. The others go with him as free companions, to go as far as you are able or chance allows. You may tarry, return or turn aside to other paths, as the Valar guide you. The further you go, the harder it will be to withdraw, yet no bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For the road ahead is dark, and no one knows how they might fare when danger strikes.”

“Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart!” Gimli interrupted, most put out at any suggestion he of all people might desert out of cowardice.

“Or break it,” Elrond replied, with the voice of someone who'd seen people pushed beyond endurance once too often. “Whatever happens, my friends, I wish you luck on your journey. May your blades be sharp, your arrows true and the light of Elbereth guide your footsteps. To the Fellowship of the Ring!” He raised his cup in a toast.

“To the Fellowship!” everyone responded. Draco drank his miruvor and almost wished he was going with them. Almost. But it was too late to change his mind now – they had the Nine Walkers and the Fellowship was complete.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Fellowship departed at sunset the next day. There was little celebration this time, although Boromir did insist on sounding his hunting horn before setting out – apparently it was traditional in Gondor.

They were travelling light – only essential survival equipment and the lightest of weapons were being taken along. Their best hope was in speed after all.

“We're going to look and feel disgusting at the end of all this, aren't we?” Hermione whispered to Ginny. Even hard-wearing Elven clothing wasn't going to stay fresh for long. Ginny nodded.

“Yes, it'll be horrible. At least everyone else will look equally vile,” said Ginny, although that wasn't terribly consoling even to her – just because Harry would be as filthy as she was didn't make the prospect of him seeing her like that any better. “Plus, no Malfoy.” Now that was a somewhat more cheering thought.

“Yeah. No Malfoy,” said Hermione. She should be pleased at the prospect of not hearing Draco's whining again for months, she knew that, and she was, mostly... but all the same, it would be odd not having him around.

Draco himself had come to see them off, and had started with Luna.

“Well, you came to see us off, that's something,” she nodded with approval. “Not too late to change your mind, you know.”

Draco laughed. “I think you'll find it is, I'm not remotely dressed for the road and I've packed nothing.” This was true – he'd turned up in a dark blue velvet tunic trimmed with silver, and black woollen leggings. It was hardly travelling gear.

“It wouldn't take you long to get ready,” said Luna hopefully.

“I'm a Malfoy, my dear, I think you'll find it would,” Draco replied. Luna had to agree this at least was true. She responded by enveloping him in a hug.

“You take care, Draco,” said Luna gruffly. “I'm going to miss you.”

That was in the second time in as many days that someone had said something nice about him with no ulterior motives. To his surprise, he realised he was going to miss her too.

“You too,” said Draco softly. “Don't get killed, and keep an eye on the Gryffindors, even Potter. You know what they're like.”

“I'll try,” Luna promised, conspiratorial smile indicating she knew all too well what they were like.

Finally, all was in readiness and the Fellowship made ready to depart. In the end, there was little in the way of formality, just a few whispered farewells and a quiet departure. Elrond and Draco and various members of Elrond's household watched them go, and more Elves rode alongside until the edge of Rivendell, including Glorfindel and the twins, but once the river had been forded, the Elven escorts disappeared with a few whispers of “Cuio vae!” and “Navaer!”

Harry looked back wistfully.

“Well, guess we're on the way,” he sighed. “Next stop, Mordor.”

“We are a long way from Mordor yet, young Harry,” said Gandalf with a smile. “Why, we have the Misty Mountain range to cross and the entire Vale of Anduin to travel before we even reach the borders of Mordor.”

“Look on the bright side, Harry,” said Ginny. “At least it'll be ages before the trouble really starts.”

“Oh no,” said Luna cheerfully. “It'll all likely start much sooner than that.”

There was much groaning and eye-rolling from the rest of the Hogwarts contingent, but Gandalf and Aragorn just nodded in agreement.

“She speaks the truth,” said Gandalf. “These are dark days and I fear trouble will find us much sooner than any of us would like. But come, let us move on. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

And so began the quest of the Fellowship of the Ring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short version, Nine go to Moria. However, not without a little unexpected help...

“_Draco, Draco.”_

 

“_Where are you?” Draco whispered. He was in Malfoy Manor, running along one of the many corridors he'd played in as a child, but it was night and the place was empty. And yet he was sure he'd heard his mother calling._

 

“_I'm coming, Mother,” he called. “Just tell me where you are!”_

 

“_Draco,” he heard a woman whisper. A noise behind him, and he turned around._

 

_Bellatrix Lestrange was watching him from a window-seat, wand in her lap._

 

“_Who are you looking for, Draco?” she asked, sounding almost innocent. Draco wasn't fooled._

 

“_Where is she? What have you done with her?” he snarled, drawing his wand._

 

“_She's not here, Draco. No one's here any more,” Bellatrix sighed. “Dead Manor for a dead family, abandoned, empty, gone. Not yours any more, not anyone's. No Malfoys left, not a single one. The Black widow's gone to ground.”_

 

“_Where is she?” Draco screamed at her. “What did you do to her???”_

 

_Bellatrix threw back her head and laughed. “I? I did nothing, Draco. She's gone where I can't follow now. And your place isn't here any more. You need to look behind you.”_

 

_Draco spun round, and he wasn't in the Manor any more, he was in a cave, a great cavern with ornately carved pillars supporting the roof, and a great chasm cutting across the floor, only a narrow stone bridge crossing it. One lone robed figure stood on the bridge, a robed figure with bushy hair that could only be one person._

 

“_Hermione,” Draco breathed, rushing to the foot of the bridge. She seemed utterly emotionless, and her skin seemed pale, far paler than it ought to be and with a grey tinge despite the firelight._

 

“_Too late, Draco,” she said, her voice flat and dull. “The Watcher in the Water took Luna, and took our hearts with her. An Orc arrow took Ginny in the Hall of Records, and the Balrog will take me here. Harry's alone in the world now, and when one of them betrays him, what do you think he will do? He will not survive Mordor alone.”_

 

“_Hermione, HERMIONE!!!” Harry screamed from behind him, and Draco turned to see Aragorn and Boromir dragging the screaming boy away, his face filthy and his glasses crooked, one lens shattered. Draco turned back to see a horde of Orcs and a giant fire demon with a whip of flame. One crack of the whip and it had wrapped itself around Hermione's waist, starting to burn into her robes. Hermione didn't react, not even as the whip tightened, the bridge crumbled beneath her and she fell into the flames._

 

“_No!” shouted Draco, and he ran forward to try and save her, but it was too late, she was gone, and then the very ground was crumbling beneath his feet and he too was falling, falling..._

 

_Until he landed, hitting the ground and finding himself on top of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, Dumbledore before him and unarmed._

 

“_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer,” he said, arms outstretched. “You do not have to do this.”_

 

“_I do,” Draco whispered, “I do, he's got my mother, he'll kill her if I don't!” Dumbledore shook his head._

 

“_I can protect your mother, Draco, I can take her to a safe house right now if you only lay down your wand and join us. Draco, there is a better way, if you will only take it.”_

 

“_She's my mother,” Draco whispered, tears rolling down his face. “She's all I have. I can't...”_

 

“_I will protect her,” Dumbledore promised. “But you must let this go, Draco!”_

 

“_Do you promise she's safe?” Draco asked. Dumbledore nodded. Draco sank to his knees and offered up his wand. “Take it. They're coming. You'll need it.”_

 

_A hand took the wand from him, but the voice that replied was not Dumbledore's._

 

“_Foolish boy, to give up so easily,” the voice laughed, and Draco looked up to see another wizard with a staff and long robes that looked white until he moved, and then you could see the shimmering colours that made them up. He plucked Draco's wand from his hand and casually threw it over the side, and they weren't at Hogwarts any more, but on top of another tower entirely, one with a view of what had once been gardens and forest, but was now home to an army._

 

_The wizard laughed and disappeared, and Draco saw a grey-robed figure sitting cross-legged, watching the Orc host below._

 

“_Gandalf,” Draco cried, running over to grab the other wizard's shoulder. “Gandalf, help me, he took my wand!”_

 

_Gandalf shook his head. “I cannot give it back to you, my child, he has taken my staff too. Saruman is not mine to defeat.”_

 

“_Then we've lost,” said Draco, feeling the helplessness threaten to overwhelm him. “The Fellowship's doomed, my mother's gone, I'm a prisoner and wandless. What can I do?”_

 

_Gandalf just smiled. “You will find a way, Draco. For better or worse, your destiny lies here. Do not fear for your mother, she is safe for now. Was she not always the strongest of you all? Was she not always your best supporter and fiercest protector? Do not fear for Narcissa Malfoy – when you need her most, she will find you.”_

 

“_But she doesn't even know I'm here,” Draco cried. Gandalf kept smiling._

 

“_She is your mother, child. She knows.”_

 

_A shadow fell across them both, and Draco looked up to see a giant eagle blotting out the sky. Shaking, Draco reached out a hand to it, and then the scene changed again, and the eagle's feathers were strange golden leaves on a giant silver tree._

 

“_Where am I?” Draco asked. He knew he'd never seen this place before. Certainly he'd never been on a wooden platform built into a tree like the one he was standing on._

 

“_In the sacred city of Caras Galadhon in the forest of Lothlorien, heart of all Elvendom on Middle Earth,” a woman replied._

 

_Draco turned around to see a blonde woman in flowing green robes and a silver circlet on her head seated in one half of a wooden double throne. The other was empty, but kneeling at her feet was a black-clad figure with blonde hair pinned back in a bun that Draco recognised all too well._

 

“_Mother!” Draco cried, rushing to kneel at her side. “Mother, are you alright?”_

 

_Narcissa did not respond. Her eyes were only half open and she seemed to be in some sort of trance. _

 

“_Mother?” Draco whispered, shaking her shoulder. “Mum?”_

 

“_She cannot hear you,” the woman on the throne said calmly, and now Draco was close up, he could see she was an Elf. “She is waiting for her prince.”_

 

_Draco ignored her. “Mother, I'm here, I've come to get you, please wake up!” He was shaking her shoulder even harder, turning her face to look at him. It was to no avail, Narcissa's eyes were as unseeing as before. Helpless, Draco let her go, her head falling back to staring at the floor._

 

“_Why won't she talk to me? Can't you do anything?” _

 

_The Elf shook her head. “It is out of my hands. She is waiting for her prince – she will wake when she finds him. Child, did it ever occur to you that maybe her prince is not you?”_

 

“_Not me – but if not me, who? Who else has she got?” Draco cried._

 

_The Elf simply smiled. “It is not for me to say,” she replied calmly. “But he will come for her, and she will come for you.”_

 

“_I don't understand,” said Draco, confused. “Who will come?” The Elf smiled and began to fade away, and to Draco's horror, so was his mother._

 

“_Mother!” he cried, reaching for her, but his hand only passed through her. “Mother, no, come back, MOTHER!!”_

 

“Mother, Mother, no, come back, MOTHER!!” Draco screamed as he woke, nearly sitting upright. The figure that had been leaning over him moved back with reflexes that weren't entirely human.

 

“Be still, Draco, it was just a dream,” said Elrond gently. Draco slowly looked around the room to see Arwen standing behind him with a lantern in hand, and a few other Elves of the household lurking in the corridor beyond.

 

“I woke the entire house, didn't I,” said Draco, feeling himself blushing. Elrond smiled.

 

“Be at peace, Draco, we have sharp hearing and do not need as much sleep as you anyway. Arwen, would you...?” Arwen nodded and, placing the lantern by Draco's bed, ushered everyone else away before joining her father.

 

“Draco, will you not tell us what troubles you? The Fellowship have only been gone six days and this is the fifth time you have woken screaming. The dreams must be strong ones, but we cannot help you if you won't tell us what they are!” said Arwen.

 

“You heard me before?” Draco asked, surprised. This was the first time he'd woken up to find Elves surrounding him. Arwen nodded.

 

“As I said, we have sharp hearing,” said Elrond. “Many among us have heard and have whispered, but I also know mortals like privacy and you are prouder than most. I wished to wait until you came to me yourself, but tonight you seemed particularly distressed and Arwen came to my room and begged me to intervene.”

 

“It's the first time I really remembered it clearly,” said Draco, shivering at the memory. “Before, I just remembered bad things happening to everyone, especially Mum.”

 

Arwen looked away at this. “I still have dreams like that about my Nana sometimes too. But it helps waking up and knowing she's safe and no one can hurt her any more.”

 

Elrond's eyes darkened briefly, but he was looking away from Arwen and she did not see it. “Did you want to tell me what exactly happened?” he asked. “If this dream has come before, it may be important.”

 

Seeing he was not going to get out of this one, Draco told them of the dream he'd had. The two Elves listened sympathetically as he told of seeing Bellatrix in the Manor, with sadness as he told of Hermione being killed, interest as he recounted the two towertop conversations, and then astonishment as he told of being in Lorien.

 

“Grandnana!” Arwen cried as he described the Elf he'd seen.

 

“You know her?” Draco asked, before realising what a stupid question that was – a small society composed of ageless immortals, of course they all knew each other.

 

“Lady Galadriel of the Golden Wood,” Elrond confirmed. “The single most powerful Elf in Middle Earth... and my mother-in-law.”

 

Draco didn't envy him there. “That can't be easy for you.”

 

“It has had its occasional problems,” Elrond replied with a small smile.

 

“Grandada Celeborn doesn't think Ada was good enough for Nana,” Arwen whispered conspiratorially.

 

“Arwen,” Elrond warned. “Less of that – Lorien and Rivendell are friends and sworn allies against Mordor, and I have nothing but the highest respect and affection for Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.”

 

Draco merely glanced at Arwen and repressed a giggle at the knowing smile on her face. Elrond, if he had noticed, chose to ignore it.

 

“Tell me more of what happened, you say Galadriel had your mother in her care.”

 

“That's right, but she was just kneeling there in a trance, she didn't even know I was there. I begged Galadriel to let her go, but she just told me Mother was waiting for her prince, that she'd wake when he found her, and that it wasn't me, it was someone else. And when he found her, they'd both find me. Elrond, what does any of it mean?” Draco hoped Elrond would be able to make more sense of it than he currently was.

 

“I do not know, but I am most intrigued that you are dreaming of places you have never been to and people you have never met. That you met Gandalf on top of Isengard tower is not a surprise – you knew he'd been held prisoner there, you heard it at the council. But for you to dream of Lorien and the Lady Galadriel, that is unusual.” Elrond stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Draco, I don't believe she actually has your mother with her at Lorien, but I am wondering if maybe it is a sign that the answer to your dream lies there.”

 

“Grandnana's Mirror!” Arwen cried. “You can see all sorts in that if she lets you – it might show you if your mother's alive and well or not.”

 

“It might,” said Elrond thoughtfully. “But you would need to go there first. Draco, the sense I am getting from this dream is that you are not meant to save your mother, that it isn't your place. Your aunt telling you she's not at your family home, your headmaster promising to take care of her, Gandalf telling you your destiny is here and that Narcissa will find you, it all says to me that you don't need to go home for her sake. I think she is safe and I think you will see her again, maybe sooner than you think. I cannot tell you what to do, but I am starting to wonder if perhaps you should have gone with the Fellowship after all.”

 

The Fellowship. Draco remembered Hermione telling him of deaths past and betrayals future before falling to her own doom, and shivered.

 

“Do you really think they'll all be killed if I'm not there?” he whispered. “Is there really a traitor in their midst?”

 

Elrond shook his head. “I do not know, Draco. Indeed, I am inclined to think that part of your dream more a reflection of guilt and worry on your part than any indication of future events.”

 

“But if you're worried, you could still go after them,” said Arwen. “It's only been a week, if we lent you a horse, you could catch them before they cross the mountains.”

 

“And Lorien is on their road, if you wanted to seek out the Lady Galadriel for advice, it would go far better for you if you were in the company of known Elf-friends,” said Elrond.

 

Draco could feel his heart sinking. After all he'd done trying to avoid dangerous quests, here was his own subconscious betraying him. _Thanks for nothing, subconscious_.

 

“Can I at least think about it?” he asked. Elrond smiled and got to his feet.

 

“Take as much time as you need, but know that if you intend to go after the Fellowship, you need to make your mind up within two days. If you tarry any longer, you will not catch them before they cross the Misty Mountains, and then it will be too late.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Two weeks, or was it three? Ginny had long ago lost count. All she knew was that she'd spent the entire time cold and tired and hungry, and she was beginning to wonder whether Draco hadn't had the right idea after all. The terrain was hard and unforgiving, and many times they'd had to detour round swamps and crevasses. They were travelling by night to avoid detection and Ginny had long ago lost any sense of where they were actually going.

 

“Hermione,” Ginny whispered. “Are we lost?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “No, I don't think so, Gandalf and Aragorn both look fairly confident. Why?”

 

“Oh good. I'm glad someone knows where we're going, because I don't.”

 

“We've been over this,” said Hermione tersely. “We're staying this side of the Misty Mountains for as far as possible, because people don't come this way and no one will think to look for us here.”

 

“I can't imagine why,” Ginny muttered.

 

“And then,” Hermione continued, “we're going to cross the mountains at the Redhorn Pass and then things should get easier. Does that answer your question?” She pulled her cloak around her, huddled to keep warm and clearly indicating this conversation was over.

 

“Just because you memorised every map in Rivendell,” Ginny muttered. She quickened her own pace, not wishing to be left behind, and not for the first time wished Gandalf hadn't banned magic except in battle conditions. Apparently Sauron could probably detect it, and even if he couldn't, Saruman would likely know and use it to track them.

 

_One warming charm. Just one. I just want to feel my feet again..._

 

Up ahead, everyone else seemed to have come to a stop. The sky was getting lighter too, which meant it must be nearly dawn. Ginny broke into a run and caught up with the rest of the Fellowship.

 

“What's up?” she asked Harry.

 

“I think we're here,” said Harry, throwing back his hood and drinking in the light of the rising sun as it crept over the mountains to their left. They'd reached a ridge covered in holly trees, and before them, the terrain stretched away, sloping gently upwards until it reached the mountains ahead, where the Misty Mountains swept to the south-west.

 

“But where's here?” Ginny asked.

 

“Here, young Ginevra, is the land of Hollin as Men call it, but in days past, it was the home to Elves and they called it Eregion,” said Gandalf, surveying the land before him and looking satisfied.

 

“Eregion – that's where Sauron learnt how to make rings, isn't it?” said Hermione, recalling what Elrond had said at the Council. All four children shivered at the thought.

 

“It is,” said Gandalf. “But do not let the memory frighten you – many good and wholesome things also came out of Eregion before war came and its people scattered. And no land where Elves have once dwelt is ever entirely lost for good.”

 

“Elves?” Gimli snorted. “Yes, Elves called this land home once, but long before that, the Dwarves were here and ever have they held this place in their hearts.” He indicated three mountain peaks in the distance, one of which gleamed red in the dawn light. “Barazinbar, the Redhorn, Caradhras to the Elves. Zirakzigil or Silvertine, Celebdil the White Mountain; and Bundushathur, also known as Cloudyhead or Fanuidhol the Grey. All Dwarves know those peaks – they are in our songs and stories, works of metal and stone; they are part of our very dreams. For on the other side is the vale of Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale in your tongue, called Nanduhirion by the Elves, and beneath them lies Khazad-dum, the Dwarrowdelf, heart of our people, the greatest city we ever built. We were driven out many years ago, and now it is forsaken, called only the Black Pit, or Moria as the Elves say. I did not even dream that one day I might lay eyes on these peaks in person.”

 

“If all goes well, you shall see them closer still, and the Dimrill Dale as well,” said Gandalf. “We will take the pass on the far side of Caradhras, the Redhorn Gate, and then down the Dimrill Stair into the Dimrill Dale itself, where the Silverlode has its spring. From there, we follow the Silverlode into the secret woods, and then make our way to the Great River.”

 

“And then?” Boromir asked, and there was a strange look in his eyes as he spoke.

 

“To the end of the journey,” said Gandalf, and for the first time there was a hesitation in his voice as if he himself was not sure where the road would take them after that. “But we should not get ahead of ourselves. Let us be glad the first stage is over, and make camp. I think we will be able to rest, not just today, but tonight too.”

 

That news was a joy to everyone's ears and they swiftly made camp in a small hollow on the other side of the ridge. There was even a fire for once, and everyone was in a good mood... everyone aside from Legolas and Aragorn.

 

“Legolas, is everything alright?” Harry asked. The Elf was being uncharacteristically quiet.

 

“I'm not sure,” said Legolas uncertainly. “Gandalf spoke of this being a former Elven kingdom, and I remember stories of the days of Celebrimbor. But they were never Wood Elves, they were of the Noldor, and the trees do not remember them. The stones, they remember, I can still hear the lament. But were it not for that, there would be no sign Elves had ever lived here and that troubles me.” He turned to Aragorn. “You feel it too, don't you?”

 

Aragorn got to his feet. “It's not what I feel, it's what I'm not hearing.” He left the camp and ran to the top of the ridge, listening intently. Everyone else fell quiet as they watched the Ranger survey the landscape.

 

“Aragorn?” Hermione called. “What have you seen?”

 

“Nothing,” came the answer as Aragorn leapt down to join them again, his face grim. “That is the problem. I have been through Hollin many times, and it has been empty for as long as anyone can remember. Neither Man nor Elf or Dwarf has lived here for hundreds of years. But the beasts and the birds, they care not for that and there are plenty here in every season. Not today, it seems. There is not a sound anywhere aside from the ones we are making, and I like it not.”

 

The campsite fell quiet as everyone listened, and sure enough, the air was still and silent.

 

“Should we move on?” Ginny whispered. “Is it safe here?”

 

“As to that, Ginevra, it is not safe anywhere,” Gandalf replied, his voice also quiet and low. “But I do not think we are in immediate danger, and we are all weary. Still, let us have the fire put out and all the gear packed so that we can move swiftly if need be. Then let us set a watch and to bed. We may need to move tonight after all.”

 

This was done, and Harry took the first watch, Aragorn joining him. Once the others had fallen asleep, the silence became truly oppressive. Even the sound of their breathing seemed loud. And then Harry noticed what looked like a cloud to the south.

 

“Aragorn,” he whispered, nudging the Ranger in the side. Aragorn looked up and his eyes widened as he realised the dark patch in the sky was getting bigger and making straight for them.

 

“Get down and stay still,” Aragorn hissed, grabbing Harry's shoulder and diving underneath one of the holly bushes. As the 'cloud' got closer, Harry could see it wasn't a cloud, but a giant flock of birds circling over the land, drawing steadily nearer. As it passed nearby, some of the birds detached and flew low, directly over them. Harry closed his eyes, curling up in a ball next to Aragorn, who was as still as only a Ranger could be. Finally, they were gone.

 

“What were they?” Harry whispered.

 

“Crows, and not ones native to here either; they are from the South,” said Aragorn grimly. “I think they may be spies.”

 

When Gandalf heard of this, he seemed to share Aragorn's opinion, and the result was that they ended up travelling again that night. There was no question of a fire now, and the Fellowship took care to hide during the day. Worse, the weather began to turn again as the East Wind returned and the temperature dropped, with dark stormclouds gathering by the third morning, as they halted at the foot of Caradhras.

 

“I do not like the look of that sky,” said Boromir. “Gondor is not a cold country, but she has mountains, and the weather can turn treacherous in a single morning. Is there no way we can delay the crossing? I fear for our safety trying to cross the mountains if a storm is about to break.”

 

“There is no other mountain pass save this one until we reach the Gap of Rohan, a journey many miles out of our way,” Aragorn replied. “And with Saruman turning traitor, I fear to take the Ring close to him. If Saruman has spies this far north, he will not have fewer of them closer to home. It is take the Redhorn Gate or not cross at all.”

 

“Then we should gather wood for the crossing,” Boromir sighed, getting to his feet. “It will serve us little to be so stealthy we freeze to death.”

 

All agreed that this was a good idea, and so the Fellowship dispersed to gather firewood. Harry noticed Aragorn and Gandalf remaining behind, and so he lingered, hoping to eavesdrop. It was clear Gandalf had something on his mind.

 

“Are you still so committed to the Redhorn Gate, Aragorn? Boromir speaks truth – there is bitter weather ahead. I have already spoken to you of the risk of being seen and waylaid, but a storm would be worse still.”

 

“You have said it yourself, there is no safe path,” said Aragorn. “But we cannot turn back, and there is no other way save this one.”

 

“And I have also said to you that is not so. Have you given no thought to the other path I spoke of?”

 

“I have given plenty of thought, and all were dark and fearful,” Aragorn replied, the genuine fear in his voice surprising Harry. He hadn't thought there was much could frighten Aragorn, and didn't want to face something that did. Fortunately, Gandalf seemed to give in.

 

“Very well, we shall take the Redhorn. But if it proves impassable, or we have to turn back, we may have no choice.”

 

Shivering, Harry slipped away to gather firewood. A choice between snow-bound mountain passes and a way so frightening Aragorn refused to even think about it. He was not looking forward to this.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They set out that evening, but while the going was good at first, the snow soon began to fall, slowly at first, but then increasingly heavily, the wind howling around them as it started to settle. Soon they were nearly knee-deep in it.

 

“As I feared,” said Gandalf. “What do you think to this way now, Aragorn?”

 

“We all feared this,” said Aragorn. “But I feared it less than other things, and it is rare to find snow this heavy so far South. We are not even high up yet, the paths here are usually open all winter.”

 

“So it is not natural then,” said Boromir grimly. “Some contrivance of Sauron, perhaps?”

 

“It doesn't need to be Sauron's doing to be evil,” said Legolas, looking up at the mountainside. “Caradhras was always called the cruel, and is no friend to Elves.”

 

Harry looked at the three girls, huddled together and shivering, even Luna looking utterly desolate and frozen, and wondered why on earth Legolas hadn't said this sooner. Natural snowfall was bad enough, a cursed mountain intent on thwarting them was something else entirely. Still, it wasn't as if they had much choice.

 

They continued on but the storm only got worse as snowfall turned into a full-on blizzard. Harry overcame his reticence over physical contact with the girls and huddled next to Ginny for warmth. Ginny slipped her arms underneath his cloak with a swiftness which might have been cause for alarm under other circumstances, but Harry was too cold to care. Up ahead, Hermione was leaning on Luna's shoulder, clinging on to the other girl for all she was worth.

 

“Come on, Hermione, you can do it,” Luna called to her, straining to be heard above the howling wind. Hermione didn't answer, just choking and sobbing as her legs gave way and she collapsed.

 

“Can't!” she howled. “Can't do this, I'm cold! Just want to lie down and rest for a bit, please...” She began to lie down, at least until Luna grabbed her and hauled her upright.

 

“No, you can't, if you lie down here, you'll never get up again,” said Luna, shaking her to keep her awake. “Harry, help me, we need fire, she's going to freeze.”

 

Ginny had already thrown down her bundle of wood and was busy adding Hermione's to the pile.

 

“_Incendio!_” The fire leapt up, and the darkness seemed to recede. But Gandalf had spun round and was pushing past Aragorn and Boromir, his face a mask of wrath.

 

“What are you doing, I said no magic! You've just announced your presence to every pair of eyes from Lindon to Anduin!”

 

“Hermione's near frozen, she couldn't make it any further!” Harry snapped back. “We need to get her warm, Gandalf, and how else are we meant to get a fire going in this?”

 

“He speaks truth,” Gimli said, looking at the fire and nodding at Ginny, clearly impressed. “We Dwarves can get a fire going in nearly any weather, but I would have struggled in this storm.”

 

“Have mercy, Gandalf, these children are frozen,” said Boromir, taking in the four pale, pathetic figures huddled round the fire. “We cannot expect them to go any further in this – Hermione looks more dead than alive.”

 

Gandalf softened, and joined them at the fire. “Well, if any enemy can get through this, they would have found us without magic too. We are all weary, let us rest and see if the storm abates.”

 

The storm did not abate – in fact it got worse. There was no question of going on either – the pass ahead was wide open and exposed to the elements; it would be suicide to even try. All they could do was keep the fire going and wait for the storm to pass. By dawn, they'd used the last of the wood... but dawn brought with it a slowing of the wind and a temporary end to the snowfall. The sky still held the promise of plenty more to come though.

 

“We are out of wood and not even halfway over,” said Boromir. “And there is more snow to come. We cannot stay here, Gandalf.”

 

“Agreed,” sighed Gandalf. “Caradhras has beaten us. I feared it would be thus. We will have to return and find another way.”

 

Easier said than done – their way back was blocked by snowdrifts many feet high.

 

“No one packed a spade, did they?” Ginny asked hopefully. No one had. Transfiguring one was also not an option – they had nothing to transfigure and their best Transfiguration expert was still sitting in a huddle, weakened by the cold and near-hypothermia and not going to be casting anything any time soon.

 

“Maybe Gandalf could summon flame to melt the snow,” said Legolas. Of all of them, the Elf remained stubbornly optimistic, to the extent that more than one of the Fellowship had entertained idle fantasies of pushing the Elf off a precipice if he did not stop being so cheerful.

 

“Maybe you could fly over the mountains and fetch the Sun to save us,” Gandalf grumbled. “I must have something to work with – I cannot burn snow!”

 

“No,” said Harry, “but we could melt it. That is, I think I could, and probably Ginny too, just enough to soften it so someone else could dig us out. We can't do too much though – too much meltwater will just freeze and someone will slip on it.”

 

Boromir slapped him on the back, almost hard enough to knock Harry over. “Young Harry, say no more, I will happily help dig. It will not be far, I think. The snow only started falling heavily when we turned around that shoulder of rock back yonder – it is only a furlong or so, the going may be easier after that.”

 

“It will go all the easier with two,” said Aragorn, getting to his feet. “Harry, Ginny, if you'll begin?”

 

Harry and Ginny aimed their wands and sent twin jets of flame boring into the snow. Boromir and Aragorn waited until it had cooled a little before starting to dig. It was a long and laborious process, and everyone else settled down to wait – everyone but Legolas.

 

“Let the strong and the magical do what they must,” Legolas said, blithely ignoring the annoyed look Gandalf gave him. “I'm going to fetch the Sun!” So saying, he leapt on top the snow and raced over it, barely leaving an imprint as he left them behind, waving at the digging team as he did so.

 

“Cheeky bugger,” Gimli grunted.

 

“I couldn't have put it better myself,” said Gandalf, reaching for his pipe.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Are we done yet?” Ginny asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. The constant casting was starting to tire her, and Harry wasn't faring much better, although he was trying not to show it.

 

“Nearly,” said Boromir, and even he was near the end of his strength. “That bloody Elf said it wasn't much further.”

 

“But that was a while ago, and this drift is the biggest yet,” said Aragorn, almost ready to give in and only stubbornness keeping him going. “I confess I am not sure how we will get past it.”

 

Legolas chose that moment to re-appear, a smile on his face. “I bring good news, my human friends!”

 

“Did you bring the Sun?” Ginny asked, not even bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Legolas shook his head.

 

“Alas, no, She was otherwise engaged warming the Southlands. But I found the next best thing. Stand back, my friends, I found you a dragon!”

 

Not a single one of them actually believed Legolas had found a real dragon... but at the same time, it was probably best not to take chances. All four of them retreated up the slope to where the other four had picked their way down the path, Hermione supported by Gimli and Luna, and Gandalf behind them, idly smoking his pipe.

 

“Is there a problem?” Gandalf asked, staring at Legolas.

 

“He says he's fetched us a dragon,” said Boromir. Gandalf took the pipe out of his mouth and stared at Boromir, clearly unconvinced. Boromir just shrugged. “I merely repeat what I was told.”

 

“The son of Thranduil may actually have lost his mind,” Gandalf murmured.

 

“Snow-madness,” said Gimli knowingly. “Terrible thing when that happens. I've seen grown Dwarves rip their clothes off and fling themselves into freezing lakes, convinced it's a mountain spa. Never ends well – aaaiiiiee!!!”

 

A jet of flame roared into life on the other side of the drift, sending snow flying, heated so fast it evaporated before it hit the ground. Everyone closed their eyes as a wave of heat, gentle by the time it reached them but that must have been scorching when it left its source, buffeted them before subsiding enough for them to look.

 

Standing at the end of an expertly carved snow tunnel, dressed in borrowed Dunedain travelling gear, a broomstick strapped to his back and a smoking wand in hand, was Draco Malfoy.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Draco's smile faded, and his eyes flicked nervously from face to face.

 

“Er... hello?” he said. “I... was worried you'd run into trouble on the way and thought I'd come check nothing had gone wrong...” He didn't finish the sentence. Boromir strode forward and pulled Draco into a bear hug.

 

“Draco Malfoy, by all the Valar, it is good to see you again!” Boromir cried, releasing Draco and giving him a pat on the back that nearly caused him to stumble and fall. “It is a most unexpected pleasure to have you join us at last.”

 

“Draco, you came, I so hoped you would!” Luna cried, rushing to give him a hug in turn. She was followed by both Aragorn and Gimli, who, although less effusive in their joy at seeing him again, were no less sincere. Draco turned to look at his fellow wizards and witches.

 

“Potter, Weasley. Granger. Don't all rush at once.”

 

To his surprise, Harry actually smiled.

 

“You came all this way just to catch up with us. I'm impressed. Well done... and thank you.”

 

“But if you even so much as look at the Ring, we kill you,” Ginny added cheerfully.

 

“I'm not after the bloody Ring, Weasley, last time I tried to touch it, I got knifed by a Nazgul,” said Draco. “Sadly for you, you'll have to restrict your bloodthirsty urges to Orcs.” He turned his attention to Hermione, who was strangely quiet. “Granger? Not got the energy for a sarcastic comment?”

 

“Not really,” said Hermione faintly. “It's just I nearly got hypothermia last night, and I really don't think I can stand on my own for much longer.” Sure enough, her knees gave way, and she fell to the floor, clutching at Harry, who just about managed to slow her fall. Draco immediately rushed to her side, unshouldering his broom.

 

“We had best get you off this mountain as soon as possible, I think,” he said gently. He released the broom, letting it hover at his side, before reaching out to help her up. The entire Fellowship starting talking at once, mostly variations on “you made your own broomstick??” from the Hogwarts contingent and “what fell wizardry is this??” from Boromir and Gimli. Even Aragorn was a little dubious, and only Legolas and Gandalf did not look surprised. Draco ignored all of them and pulled Hermione to her feet before settling her on the broom. Sliding on behind her, he tapped the ground with his feet and took off, disappearing westward at a speed that, while not putting a Nimbus to shame, had him out of sight in seconds.

 

“I didn't know Draco knew how to make a broom,” Harry whispered, still not over the shock of seeing his rival make it all this way on a home-made broom without mishap.

 

“Technically, he didn't make it, it's a Rivendell broom that Draco enchanted,” said Ginny. “But it is impressive.”

 

“He flew here... the little dragon can fly!” cried Boromir. “Why did he not tell us this back in Rivendell, we could have had flying brooms for us all and be in Gondor by now!”

 

“It's not that simple,” said Luna, falling in behind him as the Fellowship began to pick its way down the mountainside. “You'd need to be a witch or wizard to fly one, and for a journey as far as Gondor is from Rivendell, the person doing the flying would have to be good – it's not something for a novice. Draco's been flying most of his life. Harry and Ginny, they're both good too. But I don't really do it often, and Hermione never does. She and I, we're not up to long journeys, either of us. Essentially, it'd be three brooms at most, each with room for one passenger. It's not enough, Boromir.”

 

Boromir sighed, disappointed. “So my dreams of having him equip an entire battalion with magic brooms to fight Mordor from above are doomed to never be.”

 

“Maybe that is for the best,” said Aragorn, sombre. “It is not good for Men to become accustomed to looking down on the world from a great height. It encourages them to see their fellows as insignificant.”

 

“I don't know about Men, but I'll tell you this,” said Gimli. “No Dwarf is ever getting on one of those things!”

 

Harry fell behind to speak with Gandalf.

 

“You don't look surprised,” he said. “Were you expecting him? Did Elrond send word Malfoy was coming?”

 

Gandalf shook his head. “No, but I did not think for a moment we'd seen the last of young Draco. I have not known him as long as you have, but I am a keen observer of character, and I have had ample chance to observe him at Rivendell. He is insatiably curious, and at the same time believes he is entitled to a share of whatever glory is being handed out. He has been trained all his life to believe in his own natural superiority, yet at the same time is desperate to prove he really deserves the adulation he wants. Harry, he could no more have resisted this than cut off his own arm. Indeed, I believe the only reason he didn't join before was because he didn't want to be seen as merely your follower. He is much like Boromir in that regard – there is a reason he and Draco have bonded the way they have.”

 

“He waited and changed his mind so he could say it was his own idea and he's not just following us,” said Harry. It made sense. It made a lot of sense. But it didn't explain everything. “But he wasn't heading home to get out of danger, he was going home to rescue his mother – he knew there'd be fighting no matter which way he chose. Why'd he give up on her? That doesn't make sense, he's devoted to her.”

 

“I do not know, Harry,” said Gandalf. “But I think he will tell you if you ask him.”

 

The trudge down the mountain was long and weary, but there was some relief – Draco, after depositing Hermione at the foot of the mountain, returned and offered lifts to all in turn. Luna eagerly accepted, and after a moment's thought, Harry also agreed. Seeing this, Ginny also gave in, and Legolas expressed interest. Gandalf followed, and Aragorn decided it certainly beat walking. Not to be seen as a coward, Boromir agreed to be airlifted, leaving only Gimli remaining. At length, and probably not helped by Draco gliding alongside making gleefully pointed remarks, Gimli gave in and reluctantly allowed Draco to fly him down. The end result was that they were all off the mountain and making camp under the trees by midday. Before settling down to get some sleep, the Fellowship settled in for a quick breakfast and interrogation of their new member.

 

“Oh god, I'm in SO MUCH PAIN!” Draco cried, desperately massaging his thighs. “I was on that broom for nearly sixteen hours, I'm in agony, I tell you.”

 

“Sixteen hours?” Luna cried. “Draco, did you stop at all after leaving Rivendell??”

 

“Briefly,” Draco replied. “Stopped at about three in the morning in that place with all the holly trees when the wind and the rain started up – must have caught the edge of the storm that hit you. Then got going again at six when it slackened off. Could have got here faster if I'd gone all out, but high speed does strange things to the enchantments so I kept to thirty miles an hour. Left Rivendell last night around eight. Arwen and Elrond said hello, by the way, also I have more miruvor in my pack if anyone wants some.”

 

“I need some,” said Gimli faintly. “I cannot get my head around you being in Rivendell last night and catching up with us today!”

 

Draco smiled and passed a small thimble containing a couple of drops of miruvor to Gimli, who promptly knocked it back and went for a lie down.

 

“That is some achievement,” said Aragorn, impressed. “What prompted the journey?”

 

“Indeed,” said Gandalf, “when last we met, you had your heart set on returning home to find your mother. Why has your plan changed?”

 

“The dreams,” said Draco, his face growing sombre. “Every night, the nightmares, and they were getting worse. Funnily enough, they weren't about Mother – she was fine when she appeared. Indeed, I had about four different people tell me she was safe. But I dreamt of bad things happening to you lot... and I dreamt of meeting Galadriel of Lorien, Arwen's grandmother.”

 

“Galadriel!” Aragorn gasped. “Few mortals have ever laid eyes on her!”

 

“Arwen and Elrond were surprised too,” said Draco. “In the end, Elrond said the dream seemed to be telling me I should go to Lorien and seek her advice. Apparently she has some scrying mirror thing that I might be able to borrow and see if Mum's alright.”

 

“She does indeed,” said Gandalf. “But whether she will let you borrow it is another matter entirely. Still, we will be heading in that direction ourselves if we can cross the mountains, it will go better for you if you are with us.”

 

“Funny,” Draco grinned, “that's just what Elrond said. Anyway, Arwen offered to lend me a horse, but that didn't really work out too well.”

 

Knowing grins were shared between the Fellowship – even when they'd all been staying at Rivendell with little to do but enjoy Elrond's hospitality, Draco had never really been terribly at ease on horseback and had mostly avoided it.

 

“So, with no other means of catching up, I resorted to what I know and borrowed a broom off Silanen. It took me nearly a week to get it to fly and a day or two more to work out the niggles and get it ready for a long trip, but I did it eventually. Elrond advised me to fly overnight to avoid being seen, which meant waiting for the full moon to pass so it was still light enough to see by but not so much of a risk of anyone seeing me from the ground. And last night, I finally got going, finding Caradhras a bit after dawn, and what do I see but footsteps in the snow and an Elf trotting across a snow-drift like he's out for a stroll in the park.”

 

“And a joy it was to look on your fair features again, Draco Malfea,” said Legolas with a bow, in that manner he had where it was never quite certain whether he meant every word and was merely adopting the usual courtly style of speaking Elves had, or was secretly mocking you. “Long have we mourned your absence from our Company, and many have been the days we lamented that you were not by our sides.”

 

“As to that, I sincerely doubt it,” said Draco, casting a glance at Harry and Ginny in particular. “But why don't you bring me up to speed on what happened to you and where you're going next.”

 

This was swiftly done, and Draco listened sombrely as Aragorn told of spies out of Isengard and the cursed storm that had thwarted them on Caradhras.

 

“I can't fly you over the mountains,” said Draco. “It was hard enough fetching you all down one at a time from halfway up there. It could take days to do nine round trips and I don't know how the broom will handle at altitude. And if there's another storm, we'll be in serious trouble – I know I'd have to land in foul weather.”

 

“I was not intending that you should,” said Aragorn. “But few are our choices now, and the road ahead I like not. For with Caradhras closed to us, it seems our only choices are taking the Southern route and risking the ire of Saruman, returning to Rivendell to face defeat and worse defeat to come, or to take another road, a dark and dangerous road that even I fear to tread.”

 

“Well, we can't go South,” said Harry, reflexively clutching at the Ring, a smouldering anger burning inside him at the mere thought of Saruman trying to take it. “And we can't go back, that's for certain. If there's no other mountain passes, we don't have much choice. What is this dark and dangerous road?”

 

“It is not pleasant,” said Gandalf. “There is a reason I have not spoken of it before – the danger is real, and Aragorn was against it until we had tried the mountain pass. The road that I speak of leads through the Mines of Moria.”

 

“Moria!” Gimli whispered, eyes alive with emotion. He was the only one to seem even remotely pleased – everyone else shivered a little, even the Hogwarts contingent. Draco went a little pale, recalling his former nightmares, and Luna drew her cloak around herself, real fear in her eyes.

 

“It is a cursed name, and a cursed path you speak of,” said Boromir. “If the Gap of Rohan is closed to us, can we not pass west over the Isen into Langstrand and Lebennin and take ship to Gondor from there?”

 

Gandalf shook his head. “We cannot afford the time – Gondor cannot afford the time. It could take us a year to make that journey, and the spies of the Enemy are everywhere. When you rode North, Boromir, you were one lone wanderer among many. In the Company of the Ring, you are in peril as long as you remain with us. Our plight has become more desperate – indeed, I see little hope if we do not disappear for a while and cover our trail. We should go neither over the mountains, nor around them – at any rate, it is a road the Enemy will not expect us to take.”

 

“We do not know what he expects,” said Boromir. “He may watch all roads, likely or not. Walking into Moria would be hardly better than walking into the Dark Tower itself.”

 

“Moria is not the Dark Tower,” Gandalf replied. “I alone of any of you have been in the dungeons of the Dark Lord, and then only in his lesser stronghold of Dol Guldur. But I would not lead you into Moria if there were no hope of surviving – I myself have entered and returned to tell the tale. The Orcs of the Misty Mountains were scattered after the Battle of Five Armies – there is a chance that they have not yet returned. There may even be Dwarves there again.”

 

“Dwarves!” Gimli cried. “Gandalf, I will follow you. I would look upon the halls of Durin, even if an army of Orcs awaits us!”

 

“We cannot know that one doesn't,” said Aragorn heavily. “I too have passed beyond the Dimrill Gate before, but the memory is an evil one and I would not return if I could avoid it.”

 

“I'd rather not go at all,” said Draco, looking anxiously at the three witches. “But if you are set on this suicide mission, I'm coming with you. You'll need someone with a functioning sense of self-preservation to keep you out of trouble.”

 

All the Company turned in surprise to check Draco really had said those words. Ginny cleared her ears out to check her hearing wasn't blocked.

 

Luna smiled sadly at him. “That's brave of you, Draco. I don't know if it will help, but it's brave.” She turned to look at Gandalf, eyes starting to water. “Oh Gandalf, I cannot like this, but if you think there is no other choice, then I suppose we will have to.”

 

“I'll do it if he's going,” said Ginny, pointing at Draco. “I'm not letting it be said he was braver than I was.”

 

“I will follow you where you lead, Gandalf,” said Aragorn, his heart heavy. “You followed my lead almost to disaster in the snow and have said no word of blame. Therefore I will follow you even to Moria if you lead us there. But I say this, Gandalf – it is not for the Company I fear but for you! If you cross the doors of Moria, beware!”

 

“I am not going unless the entire Company is against me,” said Boromir.

 

“I would rather cross Caradhras again than go into Moria,” said Legolas, shivering at the thought. “I am of the Silvan Elves, I do not love the underground.”

 

“Harry?” said Hermione. “What do you think? You are Ring-bearer after all.”

 

“I don't know,” said Harry. “I mean, we've faced danger before. And Gandalf says there's a chance. But when both Luna and Aragorn are looking as dubious as they are, I have to wonder. Is there any chance we could rest first and make a decision tonight?”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Draco yawned. “But another idea has come to me. Gandalf said the danger lay with the Ring. I can't fly you all over the mountains, but if we got two more brooms and enchanted them, Harry, Ginny and I could probably fly Luna, Hermione and Gandalf and all our gear over. Without us, the rest of you would be in a lot less danger and could go via the Gap of Rohan. One trip is not as dangerous as having to do it eighteen times, and now I know what I'm doing, I wouldn't need a week to make new brooms if I had something to work with.”

 

“Only one problem,” said Ginny scathingly. “Where are we going to get brooms from? We can't make them ourselves from scratch and I'm not trusting my bottom to something that's been Transfigured and might revert back at 12'000 feet in the air if it's not done right.”

 

“Easy, Weasley,” Draco drawled. “We head for the settlement a few miles west of here. I saw it last night as I flew over. Didn't look that far, and if it comes to it, I could fly one of us out there to pick brooms and other supplies up. What?” Aragorn, Gandalf and even Boromir had gone very quiet and still.

 

“Settlement?” said Gandalf. “What manner of settlement was it, did you see?”

 

“Well, no, it was still dark, not quite dawn yet, I just saw torches and campfires, lots of them. I assumed it was a village or town or something...” Draco's voice trailed off.

 

“Draco, this area has been forsaken for centuries, there are no villages out here,” said Aragorn, fingering his sword hilt.

 

“And no village would have campfires,” said Boromir, “and certainly not all lit just before the sun rose, no dwelling of Men would have fires burning all night, and only a few would get up early to light them. Even they would be bakers and smiths lighting their ovens and forges. Only Men camping out would have fires open to the sky, and those would not all be burning all night.”

 

“A campsite,” cried Gandalf. “That can only mean a war party, and not a mortal one at that. Men do not burn fires overnight, but Orcs would certainly light their campfires in the hours before dawn when they had their supper and then rested during the day.”

 

“But if they're only a few miles away... they'll reach us tonight!” Harry cried. “Gandalf, what do we do?”

 

“We cannot stay here,” said Gandalf grimly. “Draco, pass the miruvor around, we shall have to move and move now. What choice but the mines do we have? Who among you wishes to ride south with an Orc war-band on your tails?”

 

No one did, and so, shouldering the gear and shrinking what they could so as to travel light, each took a sip of the miruvor and followed Gandalf's lead.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They travelled all afternoon, moving with haste to reach Moria's western gate by nightfall. Gandalf led the way and Aragorn brought up the rear, doing his best to disguise their trail. Draco had shouldered his broom, refusing to ride it until he could feel his thighs again, and was walking alongside Luna, wand out and glancing to each side as if he knew of some threat the rest of them didn't. Harry meanwhile couldn't take his eyes off the January sky, cold and crisp, and the Sun sinking ever lower into the West.

 

“How far?” Harry whispered to Gandalf, hoping they'd be there soon.

 

“Not far now,” came the answer. Gandalf indicated a row of cliffs in the distance, a great grey wall dominating the horizon. “Soon, we shall come across Sirannon, the Gate-Stream of Moria, and following that to its source will bring us there.”

 

“Will we make it before sunset?” Harry asked.

 

“We will if boy wizards do not keep bothering me with questions!” Gandalf snapped. Harry took that as a sign to stay quiet and fell back, letting Gandalf lead the way. They had not gone far when Gimli, who had scouted ahead, scrambled back over the red rocks and called that he'd found the Sirannon... or what was left of it. The once fast-flowing stream had been reduced to a bare trickle, and the stream-bed lay empty. Hands reached for wands and blades, and the Fellowship pressed on warily. At length, it became obvious where the stream had gone – past the remains of a waterfall, the stream had been dammed, and a dark lake lay between them and the West Gate of Moria.

 

Not a one of them could look upon that lake without a few twinges of unease at best, and Draco was looking at Luna with nothing short of alarm, carefully positioning himself between her and the water. Fortunately, the lake didn't take up quite all of the valley, and they were able to pick their way across the beach to the north, arriving at the plain grey rocks of the Walls of Moria, two mighty holly trees looming over them like ancient guardians..

 

“So how do we get in?” Hermione asked, trailing a finger over the rock. “There used to be a door, right?”

 

“Aye, lady, and there probably still is,” said Gimli. “But no Dwarf door can be seen when shut, and even a Dwarf could not find one if the secret had been forgotten.”

 

“This is true,”said Gandalf. “But this door was never meant to be a secret for Dwarves alone. They traded with Elves through this door, and even Men – the doors were never closed back then. There should be signs for those that know where to look.”

 

The Sun was setting by now, and the Moon had risen, its soft light bathing the doors. Gandalf whispered and ran his hands over the rock. As he did so, the rock shimmered and silver threads of light began to appear, slowly spreading over the bare rock until the image of an archway with Elvish lettering appeared, with two trees inside it and a seven pointed star, along with a crown and seven stars, and a hammer and anvil.

 

“The emblems of Durin!” Gimli cried.

 

“And the trees of the High Elves,” Legolas whispered. “And is that the Star of Feanor?”

 

Gandalf nodded, pleased with himself. “Made with ithildin, which is visible only in moonlight. As the Elven writing says, they are the Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs. As I said before, these doors were never shut in the days of Durin. But if they were, speaking the password would open them.”

 

“Oh, so all we need to do is find the password?” said Hermione. “Well, that's not too hard. I suppose you know what it is, Gandalf?”

 

Gandalf shook his head. “No, it's been lost for centuries.”

 

Cries of dismay echoed around the valley.

 

“Then why even come here, if you can get us no further?” Boromir cried. “Are we all to be slaughtered here by Orcs?”

 

Gandalf rose to his feet, bristling at Boromir. “That, son of Denethor, is not what I said. Let me try all the methods at my disposal first!” He proceeded to do just that, casting every spell he knew for the purpose.

 

 

It was to no avail. Spell after spell he tried, in all the languages of Middle Earth, until at length, after resorting to crying _Open, open!, _Gandalf finally gave in, throwing down his staff and flinging himself down to sit on a nearby rock.

 

No one spoke, not one of them wanting to break the silence and in doing so, admit Gandalf's failure and their own dilemma. In the distance, the wind howled and with it came even less cheering a sound – howling of wolves.

 

“Wargs!” Boromir cried. “And where the Warg howls, the Orc prowls, all Gondor knows this. They are on our tail. A fine end for a son of Gondor, dying far from home with an Orc arrow in his throat. How I wish we had never come this way!” Frustrated, he kicked a rock into the pool. It struck the surface with a resounding splash, ripples moving rapidly outwards to lap at the beach.

 

“Boromir, no!” Draco cried, horrified, remembering his dreams of a Watcher in the Water. “You don't know what's in there!”

 

“It can hardly be worse than what's out there,” Boromir growled. No sooner had he spoken than a giant tentacle lashed out of the water, grabbing Harry by the leg.

 

“Harry!” Aragorn cried, unsheathing Anduril. Hermione and Ginny hadn't even paused to shout, their wands out and firing Severing Charms, Fire Charms, anything they could think of to persuade the tentacled horror in the pool to release its grip on their friend. Harry himself was determinedly attacking the tentacle that had him in its grasp. The tentacle was hesitating... and then another one lashed out, heading straight for Luna.

 

Draco pushed her back and aimed a Reductor Hex at it. The Watcher shrieked as the hex took a chunk out of its arm, black ichor spraying everywhere as the arm retreated below the water again. Shaking and now filthy, Draco dragged Luna to the walls of Moria.

 

“Luna, you know, don't you, you know the password, you remember how this went, don't you?” he said desperately.

 

“I can't,” said Luna miserably. “I can't tell you or anyone, you need to work it out yourselves, I can't intervene!”

 

“Why not?” Draco cried. “We could die out here, you nearly did! There are Orcs over the other side of this valley, and an eldritch Thing in the lake. Please, Luna. If not the answer, a clue would be nice?”

 

“There's one in plain sight,” said Luna. “You just need eyes to see it.”

 

“No help whatsoever,” Draco seethed. “Right. _Alohomora!_”

 

The door stubbornly refused to open. Draco tried a few more spells, but to no avail. None of the opening charms he knew worked. _Eyes to see it... in plain sight... “Revelo!”_

 

This time, something happened. The Elven letters rippled and before his eyes, shifted into familiar Latin letters and English words. But all they said was what Gandalf had read out earlier. Except with one difference...

 

“Say friend and enter?” Draco frowned. “Gandalf said speak, friend, and enter earlier. Why's it different?”

 

Behind him, Hermione stepped back, out of range of the Watcher's tentacles as she sent a hex arching over the lake.

 

“Languages change, Draco, and Gandalf's as prone to misinterpreting them as anyone,” she said briskly. Glancing around, she saw the translated writing on the doors, and her eyes widened. “Of course!” she breathed, “that's it, it's not telling us to say the password at all, it's _telling us the password! _ The password's friend!”

 

“Which you just said out loud and nothing happened,” Draco pointed out.

 

“Because I was speaking English, or Westron to anyone from Middle Earth, I suppose. But the door-makers obviously didn't,” said Hermione, still grinning. Turning around, she ran to grab Legolas's arm before he could draw his next arrow. “Legolas! What's Elvish for friend?”

 

“Strange are your priorities, young one,” the Elf said with a frown. “Hermione, I know very little Quenya, and Sindarin is not spoken the same in Mirkwood as in Rivendell. But the word for friend in the houses of both Elrond and Thranduilas is _mellon._”

 

Scarcely had he spoken than the doors swung open. Legolas stared, then began to laugh.

 

“_Mellyn-nin_, I do believe Hermione solved the password! Come, before it closes!”

 

In the distance, torchlight could be dimly seen at the far end of the lake. A hex from Ginny and a sweep of Anduril finally sliced through the tentacle imprisoning Harry, and Aragorn and Boromir dragged Harry to his feet and hauled him out of the lake. At a run, the entire Fellowship broke and fell back to the gates, a few blasts of magic from Gandalf and Ginny keeping the Watcher at bay. Legolas was last in, firing a few parting arrow-shots and diving in before the Watcher's arms could reach him and pull him back. The others had retreated up the tunnel out of reach. Frustrated, the Watcher shrieked some more, before grabbing the doors and slamming them shut. The very rock around them shook as what sounded like half the mountain came crashing down outside, followed by a tearing sound and two loud thumps slamming into the rock.

 

“That, I would guess, is the tree guardians being uprooted,” said Gandalf sadly, conjuring a magelight. Five voices simultaneously whispered “_Lumos”_, and with that amount of magical light, they could all see each other as clearly as if it were day. Aragorn, Boromir, Ginny, Gimli and Harry were soaked from the lake, and no one had escaped the Watcher's blood spatter. They were cold, wet, tired, filthy, and there was no way back now.

 

“Now what?” asked Harry.

 

“Now, Harry, we make our way a little further into the mountain until we find somewhere to rest, and then we shall have a fire, and a chance for you to demonstrate your prowess at cleaning and drying charms. And then we shall set a watch and rest for the night, for we are all weary,” said Gandalf.

 

“And in the morning?” Hermione asked nervously.

 

“Then, my dear,” said Gandalf, “we do the only thing we can – go onwards.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship are trapped in Moria, with no choice but to go on. What will befall them there, and when they finally escape, have they found safety or a place more perilous in other ways? In which Luna is troubled, Aragorn has a crisis of confidence, Draco is conniving, Harry comes to an important realisation, a mysterious creature is following them, something is bothering Boromir, and danger is never far away.

“Hey, Potter?”

 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry sighed. They'd been walking for hours up and down endless identical-looking tunnels, and Harry's patience was frayed, to put it mildly.

 

“Can I talk to you for a second? Alone? And stop doing that, I'm not after the sodding Ring, if I'd really wanted it, I'd have tipped you off the broom and looted your corpse.”

 

“Not exactly helping,” said Harry, glaring. But he did release his grip on the Ring and fall into place next to Draco. “What is it?”

 

“Dreams,” said Draco, lowering his voice. “I've been having nightmares about bad things happening to the Fellowship. Specifically, Luna, Ginny and Hermione all dying horrible deaths. Luna's was at the lake, and next it's Ginny's turn.”

 

“But Luna didn't die,” Harry pointed out.

 

“No, because I was keeping an eye on her and hexed the tentacle out of the way,” said Draco. “Hence, she's still with us. Ginny was next, which is why I need your help.”

 

“Why do you need my help?” Harry whispered.

 

“Because if I stand close by in order to shield her, she'll think I'm up to something or perving over her,” Draco pointed out. “Whereas she actually likes you.  She won't mind you forever standing next to her at all times.”

 

“What if she thinks I'm perving over her?” Harry asked.

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, you unobservant twit, it's not perving if you happen to fancy the person who's doing it.”

 

Harry promptly went bright pink. “She doesn't!” A pause. “Does she?” Draco merely raised an eyebrow. Harry looked up ahead to where Ginny was laughing at something Gimli had said. She noticed him watching, caught his eye and smiled before turning her attention back to the Dwarf. Harry smiled back weakly, suddenly acutely aware of his heartbeat thudding in his chest like a war-drum. That was... unexpected. Good... but unexpected, and frankly terrifying, and since when had his best mate's little sister got _pretty?_ All the times she'd singled him out for conversations... that time in Rivendell when they'd accidentally ended up holding hands... huddling next to him on Caradhras... oh dear. It all made sense now. He was utterly, utterly doomed.

 

“What do I do???” he hissed.

 

“Oh, Potter, you are so hopeless,” Draco sighed. “Stand near her and be ready to defend if, say, we get ambushed by Orcs in some place that might have been a library or archive or anything like that. Otherwise, act normal. After Moria, work out if you like her or not. I imagine that'll simplify matters enormously.”

 

“You'd better be right about this, Malfoy!” said Harry. Without another word, he'd raced ahead and rejoined the others, falling in behind Ginny and trying, not entirely successfully, to look normal.

 

“Thank you for sorting out my love life, Draco. You're welcome, Potter,” Draco muttered to himself. Still, even though Ginny and he would never exactly be close, he still didn't want to see her dead.

 

Somewhere in the future, Draco could almost feel his father turning in his grave. Somehow, right now he couldn't care less.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

For hours that became days they walked through Moria, the endless tunnels winding deep into the mountains. Twice they slept, but it was not an easy sleep for any of them. Draco still had restless dreams of death beneath the mountains, and although he no longer cried out in his sleep, the tossing and turning frequently kept those near him awake. Harry rarely strayed far from Ginny, clutching the Ring and brooding uneasily. Even Luna's spirits were low, and Gimli, who had once been so eager to see the heart of all Dwarvendom again, had remained quiet since the doors had closed. The nights were restless, and the days wearying, enlivened only by occasionally having to leap chasms that had opened in the path, and by the odd junction, where they would have to stop while Gandalf worked out the right way to go.  Hermione had almost suggested the use of a Point Me charm, but after succeeding at the Westgate where Gandalf had not, didn't like to show him up again. And while neither Legolas nor Draco nor Aragorn spoke of this to anyone else, all three could hear in the distance the very faint sounds of what could be footsteps.  Finally, at the end of a particularly tiring march, when all were thinking of nothing more than where they were going to make camp that night, the walls to either side fell away and the air grew colder.

 

“Where are we?” Harry asked, the Lumos-light from his wand revealing very little other than that they must be an open space.

 

Gandalf smiled, raising his staff. “We've come the right way. We are now entering the habitable parts of Moria, and the Eastgate cannot be far now. Here, I shall risk some real light!”

 

Light flared from his staff, revealing a vast hall, supported by many stone pillars, reminding both Harry and Ginny of the Chamber of Secrets except in a much vaster scale. Three entrance arches loomed up on the far side of the hall, leading into blackness. Then the light went out.

 

“We have done well,” said Gandalf. “In times past there were great windows on the mountainside, and shafts that let the light in. It is night now, but in the morning, we might see daylight yet. Come, let us rest. We have come far, but the Dimrill Dale is still some distance away.”

 

They made camp for the night, and sleep soon came on them all, apart from Harry, who had the first watch. Two long, lonely hours passed with nothing but the cold and the dark and Ginny lying curled up asleep next to him. Harry glanced down at her with a smile. She was very pretty. He still wasn't entirely sure that Draco hadn't been making it up for his own nefarious reasons when he'd said Ginny fancied him. He hoped she did though. His dreams of late had been dark and cold, and the Ring was a constant weight on his mind... but when he looked at Ginny, it didn't seem to weigh as much.

 

Smiling, Harry looked up on the offchance there was anything out there... and saw two pale points of light in the distance, over near the archway they'd entered by.  Harry reached for his wand.

 

“_Expecto Patronum!_” The silver stag raced off in the direction of the lights... but there was nothing there. Either whatever it was had vanished, or he'd been imagining things in the first place.

 

“This place is really giving me the creeps,” Harry muttered, casting a Tempus Charm. Sure enough, his two hours were up. Nudging Legolas awake for his turn at the watch, Harry went to sleep.

 

When he woke up, it was to light, real light, faint sunlight, falling on his face, and the rest of the Fellowship up and about. Next to him, Ginny was sitting up, drinking it in with joy

.

“Harry, look, there are light-shafts!” she cried, on seeing him awake. “Daylight, do you see it?”

 

Harry watched the light on her face and decided there and then he'd never seen anything so beautiful.

 

“Yeah, I see it,” he said. “It's gorgeous.” _You're gorgeous,_ he wanted to say. But he didn't think it was really the time or place.

 

“Good morning, young Harry!” Gandalf called to him. “I was right – we are high on the east side of Moria. Before the day is out, we should be through the Great Gates and out into the Dimrill Dale.”

 

That was good news indeed and the Company were all pleased to hear it, even Gimli.

 

“I have seen Moria now, and it is great but also dark and dreadful. I doubt now Balin ever came here.”

 

Breakfast was had, and then their direction for the day was discussed.

 

“Shall it be the eastward arch we take, Gandalf?” Hermione asked.

 

“Maybe,” said Gandalf. “But I do not know exactly where we are. I will need to work that out before heading on. I think we should head for the light in the north door – it may prove to be a window.”

 

So they went that way, and the light grew stronger until it led them into a small chamber lit by a shaft, with blue sky just visible through it. Everything was covered in dust, but the light fell squarely on a single stone block in the centre. It looked like a tomb to Harry's eyes, and it was evident he wasn't the only one thinking it. Everyone gathered around it to see.

 

“What are the runes carved on it?” Hermione asked, peering at them.

 

“They are Daeron's Runes, used of old in Moria, but the language is the Westron,” said Gandalf with a heavy heart. “It reads _Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria_.”

 

Gimli turned away, pulling his hood over his face. Everyone fell silent. Dwarves had been here... and Dwarves had died. It was an unnerving thought, especially as it now became obvious that the piles of debris hiding under dust were bones and broken weapons and shields. There had been a battle here. A further search of the room revealed yet more evidence of violence and plunder, but by the remains of a wooden chest, Gandalf found a book. It was brittle and fragile, covered in old blood and clearly abused, but much was still readable. Gandalf pored over it for some time in silence, with Hermione and Gimli reading over his shoulders. The book was written by numerous different people, in various runic scripts and sometimes the odd bit in English – Hermione guessed that must be the language glamour translating Westron written in Tengwar letters.

 

“It's a record of the coming of Balin's folk to Moria,” Gandalf said at length. “There are pages missing from the start, but it seems to begin with their coming to the Dimrill Dale thirty years ago. It seems they drove out Orcs from the Eastgate before coming to settle in the twenty first hall of North End. According to this, Balin set up his seat in the Chamber of Mazarbul.”

 

“The Chamber of Records,” said Gimli, oblivious to both Harry and Draco going tense. “We must be standing in it now.”

 

Draco nodded to Harry, drawing his wand and edging towards the door. Harry drew his own wand and settled himself next to Ginny, positioning himself between her and the entrance.

 

“There is nothing then for some time, except Balin now being Lord of Moria. Then references to finding mithril, and Oin going to seek for the upper armouries of Third Deep, and then westwards to Hollin Gate.”

 

“Doesn't look like he ever made it,” said Hermione softly. Gandalf turned over some pages too damaged to read, until he reached some referring to the colony's fifth year.

 

“Hey, I can read that!” said Ginny, surprised. She was standing next to Hermione now, trying to read over her shoulder.

 

“It is Ori's hand,” said Gimli. “He could write well and often used the Elvish letters.”

 

“Our language-glamours are clearly rendering Westron as English, and the Tengwar as our Latin letters,” said Hermione. “I saw plenty of Elven texts at Rivendell, and the letters were ours, but I still understood none of it.”

 

“I wish I couldn't though,” said Ginny grimly. “_Yesterday being the tenth of November, Balin Lord of Moria fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirrormere, an Orc shot him from behind a stone. We slew the Orc, but many more came from the East up the Silverlode. We have barred the gates... can hold them long..._ I can't read the rest, it's too damaged.”

 

Gandalf turned the pages until he reached the last one. “This is grim to read – I fear their end was cruel. _We cannot get out. We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge and second hall. Frar and Loni and Nali fell there. _ Then it's too smeared to read, but the last part is_ the pool is up to the wall at Westgate. The Watcher in the Water took Oin. We cannot get out. The end comes. Drums, drums in the deep_ – I wonder what that means, nothing good, I fear. The very last thing is a scrawl of Elven letters – _they are coming_. There's nothing else.”

 

The room had fallen silent, dread on every face. “They must have made a last stand by both doors,” Hermione whispered. “The poor things.”

 

“But if they did not triumph over the Orc invaders,” said Aragorn, troubled, “then the Orcs would never have been driven out. Moria is a prize not to be relinquished easily – I doubt much that they would simply yield it and move on. We do not know that there are not Orcish hordes still here. I like this place not, Gandalf!”

 

“Patience, Aragorn,” said Gandalf calmly. “We have not seen any sign of Orcs since we arrived and they are not the sort to tidy up after themselves.”

 

“That does not mean there are none here,” said Boromir, from where he was standing by the door, glancing into the corridor. “It merely means we have not yet found them... or them us.”

 

Scarcely had he spoken when they were all silenced by a single loud pounding drumbeat that rang out from below and echoed around the corridor. This was followed by another, and another, and in the distance, the sound of many running feet and coarse shouting.

 

“Drums in the deep,” Hermione gasped.

 

“They are coming!” Legolas cried.

 

“We cannot get out,” Gimli moaned, clutching at his hair in dismay.

 

Boromir and Draco, both standing near the door by which they'd come in, peered out into the corridor, at the same time as Harry cast a swift Shield Charm to protect himself and Hermione and Ginny. Luna had the tomb between her and the entrance, and if Draco was fool enough to stand right in the line of fire, let him, but Harry would do what he could to keep his friends safe.

 

It was just in time. Draco swore loudly and leapt back just as an arrow fired into the room, bouncing off Harry's shield. Boromir stepped back into the room and slammed the door shut, barring it shut as best as he was able with some of the larger bits of debris lying around.

 

“They have a cave-troll,” he sighed, rolling his eyes at them.

 

“Not for much longer,” said Draco, sliding the tip of his wand through a crack in the door and whispering the flame spell he'd used on Caradhras. There came the sound of screaming and the unmistakable smell of roasted Orc flesh. Draco stepped away, pale and looking as if he was about to be sick.

 

“I've never used that spell on _people_ before,” he said faintly.

 

“They are not people, they are Orcs,” said Legolas, reaching for his own bow. “You did well, Uruloki.”

 

“You did indeed, but that will not hold them off for long,” said Aragorn. He indicated the small door at the back of the room. “We have no choice, we will have to flee this way. Thus far, it seems free of Orcs.”

 

“I agree,” said Gandalf, “but we should leave something to delay them yet further.”

 

“Leave it to me,” said Hermione briskly. “Draco, you know a thing or two about wards and locking spells, I imagine?”

 

“Including the ones that do unpleasant things to unwanted intruders?” Draco smiled thinly. “After five years of Slytherin, I should say I do.”

 

Together, the two of them proceeded to cast hexes, jinxes and charms over the front entrance, sealing the door and setting many curses on it that would deter the Orcs for some considerable time. After a minute or two they stepped back, surveying their handiwork.

 

“It won't last forever,” said Draco, casting a critical eye over it.

 

“But it'll hold long enough for us to get away,” said Hermione. Gandalf nodded approvingly.

 

“It will,” he replied. “And now let me leave a surprise of my own for when they finally do break through.” He proceeded to weave magic of his own around the room, fire charms and explosion charms and magic none of them had ever seen before, all linked to the doors and intended to go off when the doors were finally breached, bringing the whole room down on the luckless intruders.

 

“There, now let us flee!” said Gandalf. “I know where we are now, this passage should bring us out near the Great Gates. If they are not held against us, we may be able to flee this place.”

 

What he did not say, but what all of them thought, was that it was a very big if.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

For an hour, they fled down winding stairs and narrow corridors, Lumos-lights and magelight guiding them, heading down and right as Gandalf had ordered. Hermione had Transfigured the door they'd fled through into solid stone, blocking the entrance behind them, but even so, everyone was on edge. Down through the darkness they fled, but there was no pursuit nor any sound once they'd left the Chamber of Mazarbul behind, save one large explosion and the resulting shockwaves shaking the rock around them.

 

“They've breached the Chamber then,” said Gandalf. “Balin is buried deep now.” No one really had any response to that, and while it was somewhat cheering to think that at least some of the Orcs were buried with him, no one believed that they were now safe.

 

On they raced, until light other than their own gleamed up ahead – but red light, not daylight.

 

“Gandalf, what is that?” Harry asked. “Moria's not on fire, is it?”

 

“Rock cannot burn,” said Gandalf. “But we do not know what else may be lying in wait. Have a care and be on your guard, my friends!” He edged nearer the light, and as the corridor led out into an open space, he nodded, grasping his staff. The air hung thickly about them, hotter than they'd yet felt it.

 

“I know where we are now,” said Gandalf, “we are in the Second Hall of Old Moria and the Gates are near. To the eastern end of the Hall, across the Bridge, up the stairs and along through the First Hall, and then out. We may still escape yet!”

 

“But why is it so hot down here?” Ginny asked, coughing. Ash was in the air, and the smell of smoke, and all in all it was becoming distinctly unpleasant.

 

“Come and see,” said Gandalf, stepping into the Hall. They did so, and were amazed to see a great chasm dividing the room in two, with fire blazing out of it. All except Luna, who not only didn't seem surprised, she looked desperately unhappy.

 

“Had we come by the main road from the upper halls, we would have been trapped,” said Gandalf, not noticing the young witch's expression. “As it is, we can hope the fire will remain between us and pursuit. Let us go, there is no time to lose.”

 

As he spoke, drumbeats rolled out again, galvanising them into movement. As one, they raced after Gandalf, trying not to think too much about the sound of drums and running feet behind them. At least fire lay between them and the Orcs, and a swiftly cast Shield Charm from Harry kept arrows from reaching them. They raced across the Hall, only stopping when they reached the chasm at the far end, spanned only by a slender stone bridge.

 

“Lead the way, Gimli!” Gandalf cried. “Then the children after you.”

 

Hermione stopped, gasping for breath and shook her head. “I've never liked heights,” she said, closing her eyes. There was a loud crack and flash of light, and Hermione appeared on the far side of the chasm.

 

“I did it!” she cried. “I can Apparate! I've only had the one lesson, but the books were really helpful.”

 

“So very typical,” Draco murmured as Gimli dashed over the bridge, loudly accusing Hermione of cheating. “Lovegood, fancy a lift?” He unshouldered his broomstick.  “Lovegood? Luna?”

 

For the first time, he realised just how withdrawn she'd been for the last few days, since entering Moria in fact. Right now, she looked awful, as if she was about to burst into tears, and she was staring at Gandalf.

 

“Luna, what is it?” Draco asked, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “What's wrong? What do you know?”

 

“I thought it might be different this time,” Luna whispered. “But I don't think it will be, and I can't watch, Draco, I can't!” She turned and flung her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

 

“Er... there, there, Luna,” said Draco, really having no idea how to respond to this. “Why don't you just get on my broom and we'll get out of here, OK?”

 

Sniffling, Luna nodded, and mounted up behind him. Trying to ignore the looks he was getting from Hermione and Gimli, and now Harry and Ginny who had both crossed over while he was comforting Luna, he flew over the chasm and dismounted on the other side.

 

“Are you alright, lassie?” Gimli asked Luna. She nodded, drying her eyes.

 

“I will be,” Luna said, still looking far from happy. “But I am so very afraid.”

 

Gimli, like Draco, had no real idea how to respond to that, and settled for making comforting noises and staring at his feet, while Ginny stepped to Luna's other side, patting her shoulder. However, no one had a chance to say anything else as Legolas crossed the bridge, turned to face the enemy and promptly went pale, crying out in horror. Trolls had arrived, bridging the fire with stone slabs and allowing the Orcs to cross... but that was not what had frightened the Elf. The Orcs had parted, and a black shadow emerged, a figure of fire and darkness wielding a whip of fire and a flaming sword. It leapt the fire without breaking its stride and bore down on them.

 

“What is it?” Hermione asked, making her way to the bridge as if entranced.

 

“A Balrog!” Legolas cried. “A Balrog is come.”

 

“Durin's Bane!” said Gimli, wide-eyed.

 

“A Balrog!” cried Gandalf. “Evil fortune indeed! Aragorn, Boromir, cross the Bridge, take the others and flee – this is a foe beyond any of you.”

 

Aragorn and Boromir retreated over the bridge but no further, drawing their swords in a vain bid to protect their leader. Boromir unslung his horn, sounding out a mighty blast, which did give the advancing horde pause... but not for long. The Balrog bore down on them, cracking its whip against the rock floor, leaving scorch marks wherever it hit that smoked for minutes after.

 

“Gandalf, oh Gandalf, be careful!” Luna cried, near tears as she watched him retreat as far as the middle of the Bridge. Harry had already raced to join Aragorn and Boromir, wand outstretched, and Hermione would have joined him had Draco not grabbed her wand arm and held her back.

 

“Damn it, Draco, let me _go!_” she shouted at him.

 

“No, you'll just get yourself killed!” Draco shouted back. “If Gandalf says it's beyond us, _it's beyond us, leave it be!_”

 

Hermione would have protested, but at that moment, Harry chose to launch a Flame-Freezing Charm at the Balrog. It might even have worked on a lesser creature, but it struck the Balrog's arm, causing the flames on it to freeze for a second... and then the charm vanished as if it had never been. Going pale, Harry gulped before backing away to rejoin the others.

 

Gandalf faced the Balrog with not a glimmer of fear as it reached the Bridge and began to advance towards him.

 

“You shall not pass!” Gandalf challenged it. Behind it, the Orcs fell silent, but the Balrog just laughed.

 

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor!” Gandalf continued, staff raised in one hand, Glamdring drawn in the other. “You shall not pass!”

 

The Balrog did not reply, its fire dying down but seeming to grow in size and become darker until it towered over Gandalf, wings spanning almost the entire width of the Hall. Luna buried her face in Draco's shoulder, sobbing in terror. Draco stroked her hair, wishing he had the same option. But the only person he'd ever felt comfortable doing that around was his mother, and she wasn't here.

 

“The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!” Gandalf was still shouting. “Go back to the Shadow! You _shall not pass!_”

 

The Balrog's whip hissed over Gandalf's head and its red sword of fire swung out. Gandalf's sword Glamdring rang out in response, slicing into the sword with an explosion of white fire that obliterated the Balrog's weapon. Swaying from the effort, Gandalf took a step back, raising his staff again. Enraged, the Balrog leapt forward, its whip whirling above its head as it prepared to strike. Gathering his strength for one last effort, Gandalf struck the Bridge with his staff.

 

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” he thundered as he did so. His staff shattered into pieces, an explosion of white fire bursting out of it and into the Bridge. At the very feet of the Balrog, the Bridge cracked and broke, crumbling into the abyss and taking the Balrog with it, the creature roaring in fury as it fell. Gandalf, exhausted, turned away, but as he did so, the flame whip sang out again, wrapping around his legs and hauling him back.

 

“Gandalf!” Hermione cried. Behind her, Luna howled, clinging on to Draco as if her life depended on it.

 

“Fly, you fools!” Gandalf cried, and then he was gone.

 

The fire died, plunging the hall into darkness. Four whispered Lumos-charms sprang into life, giving some light, but all it really showed was eight frightened faces, seven not bothering to hide it and only Boromir trying to look as if he alone were unafraid.

 

Until Aragorn stepped into the circle of light, grim but undaunted.

 

“Come, I will lead you now. We must obey his last command. Follow me!” Without waiting to see if they were following, he ran for the stairs at the far end.  Drying her eyes, Luna broke away from Draco and cast her own Lumos before running after Aragorn. At this, the rest of the Fellowship roused themselves from their stupor and followed behind, Harry and Ginny after her, Draco and Hermione behind, then Legolas, then Gimli and finally Boromir bringing up the rear. In the distance, the drums were beating again, but more slowly this time, as if in a funeral march. They ran on, and as they ran, it began to grow lighter. They passed through another hall, this one lit by giant windows in the mountainside, and then up ahead were the Great Gates, standing open, sunlight pouring in. There were Orcs ahead, but very few of them, and after Aragorn struck down their leader without even slowing his stride, they had no further trouble. Out of Moria they ran, into the light of a beautiful winter's day. They kept running until they were out of bowshot of the Gates, and then finally they were able to rest by the waters of the Mirrormere, where they sunk to the ground and gave way to their grief.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

For a long while they remained there, sitting or standing around, crying, weeping, or just staring at the ground. Gimli went to stare into the Mirrormere but did not speak to any of what he saw there. Harry was with Ginny, openly crying on her shoulder and Ginny for her part didn't seem to mind, just holding him as she stared back at Moria, her own tears glittering on her cheeks.

 

Luna was crying quietly with her head on Draco's shoulder. Draco had no earthly idea why she'd singled him out, but who was he to argue? And a short way off was Hermione on her own, looking as lost and confused as he felt.

 

“Granger... Hermione. You can sit with us if you like,” he heard himself saying. It was a testament to how Hermione was feeling that she assented without hesitating and settled down at his side, resting her head on his other shoulder.

 

“How did this happen?” Hermione whispered. “How did one of us get killed... and Gandalf of all people? He was the strongest of us all! And Harry's spell just fizzled out against that thing, and if Gandalf hadn't been there to fight it...” She buried her head in Draco's robes, the words choking her.

 

Draco had no answer for her, other than “it'll be alright,” or “we knew this was dangerous going in,” or even “don't worry, I'll look after you,” but somehow, not a single one seemed appropriate. He settled for a slightly awkward one-armed hug.

 

“And what if it was our fault?” Hermione continued. “What if we interfered somehow? What if he'd have lived if it hadn't been for us? What if we've made things worse??”

 

“We haven't,” said Luna, her voice clear and firm despite the tears still on her face. “He died there in Moria in the original timeline too. There was nothing any of us could have done differently. Not even me, knowing what would probably happen. All I could have done was urge us to skip the Chamber of Mazarbul and go directly to the Second Hall to save time – but we still might have run into trouble, and we'd definitely have been trapped by the fire. We didn't kill him, but we couldn't save him either. Hermione, there was nothing we could have done.”

 

“If we can't change anything, what's the bloody use of being here?” Hermione snapped. “Surely the whole point of coming was to make a bloody _difference?_”

 

“We can and we willand we are doing,” said Luna, her own temper starting to fray at the edges. “But Hermione, we _can't save everyone!_”

 

“She speaks the truth,” said Aragorn, sitting down across from them. He was the only one in earshot, Boromir having gone for a walk, kicking and striking with his sword a few harmless bushes as he did so, Legolas sitting in the distance under a tree, and Harry and Ginny too lost in each other to notice anyone else. “We cannot save everyone, much as we might wish otherwise. All we can do is save who we can, and let the Valar take care of everyone else.” His attention shifted intently to Luna. “But you, young Isileth, it is different with you. We make what decisions we can, and sometimes we have our eyes wide open and the light of reason and knowledge to guide us. And other times, the road ahead is dark to us and we follow the promptings the Valar choose to send us. And yet other times, it matters not whether the road is clear or no, for our hearts have their own desires and will follow them blindly. But you, you have more than that. For you, not only is the road well lit, but you know where it leads. You knew that we had to go to the Chamber to avoid the fire, and yet you also knew that road would lead to Gandalf's death most likely, and that pained you greatly, this I can tell now. I too have some of the Dunedain foresight, I too feared for Gandalf if he entered Moria. But I knew not why, and you, you knew what was to come and you walked that road anyway. For that, I salute you.”

 

“Thank you, but I really didn't have a lot of choice,” said Luna sadly. “I know the original story, that's all. I can't tell you what happens though, because things might be different this time, and just telling you would change things in itself and not for the better. So I can't say what's going to happen, just as I couldn't say anything about Gandalf. It wouldn't have changed anything except for the worse!”

 

“But he might have taken more care on the Bridge if someone had warned him,” said Hermione curtly.

 

“Or he might not,” said Draco. “We don't know, Hermione, and I for one think the one to blame for Gandalf dying was the sodding Balrog that killed him!”

 

Hermione backed off, chastened. Aragorn merely nodded. “Well spoken, son of Lucius. I know you are all doing what you can. We all knew this was a dangerous road, and I think Gandalf knew when he stepped onto that bridge that he might not leave it again. We cannot dwell on the past – we can only look to the future. And that is why I wish to speak with you, young Luna.”

 

Luna disentangled herself from Draco, sitting upright.

 

“I can't tell you what lies ahead or where to go, Aragorn,” she said. “You must know that.”

 

Aragorn nodded reluctantly. “I know you can tell me but little. But I find myself unexpectedly leading eight people on a journey into peril and I have no idea what my predecessor had planned or where he was leading us.”

 

“That's alright, I don't think he knew exactly either,” said Luna. “Aragorn, you will do fine.”

 

“Strangely, I do not find myself comforted,” said Aragorn with a humourless smile. “Have you no other counsel you can give?”

 

“Well, what would you do if I wasn't here?” Luna asked.

 

“I do not know,” Aragorn sighed. “But we must move on, and soon, before the Orcs of Moria decide to come for the rest of us. We must find a place of safety, and the nearest one is the Golden Woods of Lothlorien, not more than a few miles hence. There we can rest and take on supplies, and seek counsel from Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.”

 

“Excellent idea,” Draco interrupted. “Let's do that then. Lead the way, o mighty leader.”

 

Aragorn stared at him, then burst out laughing. “I have been outmatched this day, truly. Nevertheless, I thank you. For the power of the truly wise is that of helping others realise that the answer to their troubles lay within them all along. Come, rouse your friends, it is time we were moving. We have lingered by Mirrormere enough.”

 

It took a further twenty minutes to round everyone up and gather all their things together and move on, Aragorn explaining that they were to make for the spring of the Silverlode and then follow that river downstream into the woods there.

 

“Lothlorien!” cried Legolas. “Fairest of all Elven dwellings save those in the West. For there are the mallorn trees, of silver bark and golden leaf, which lose not their leaves in autumn, keeping them until spring. Then only do their leaves fall, when the mallorn boughs blossom with fair yellow flowers, and there is gold above and gold below and silver in the middle. So we say in Mirkwood. Alas that it is still winter!”

 

“It will be fair enough even now,” Aragorn promised. “But it is still far, and we must hasten.”

 

So they did, walking briskly with only brief halts for the next five hours. The sun crept below the mountains and night fell, but still they continued, until finally the mallorns of Lothlorien loomed up ahead.

 

“Lothlorien! Lothlorien!” Legolas cried. “How I have longed to lay eyes on you.”

 

“And I too,” said Aragorn, a wistful smile on his face. “We are still too close to Moria for my liking, but we cannot go much further tonight. We must trust in the virtue of the Elves to protect us until daybreak.”

 

“If there are Elves still here,” said Gimli suspiciously. Certainly if Elves did live there, they were doing their best to hide the fact. The woods were dark and there was no sign of life other than the usual forest animals.

 

“In Mirkwood, they say Elves live here still,” said Legolas. “There is a secret power that keeps evil from the land. But maybe they live deep within the woods.”

 

“They do indeed live deep in the woods,” said Aragorn, moving forward. “We can rely on no direct aid from the Elves of Lorien tonight – we must fend for ourselves. Come, let us enter – we shall travel far enough that trees surround us, and then we shall find shelter for the night.”

 

Aragorn led the way, and all made to follow him – all but Boromir.

 

“Is there no other way?” the Gondorian asked.

 

Aragorn sighed, and turned to face him. “Where else would we go, Boromir? Have you some fairer way in mind?”

 

“Any plain road, though it led through a hedge of swords,” said Boromir stubbornly. “By strange paths have we travelled, and to evil fortune so far. To Moria we went against my will, and suffered loss there. And now the Golden Wood? We have tales of this place in Gondor – it is a fey place, a wild place, and few who enter ever return. Those that do are never the same. It is perilous!”

 

“Lore and wisdom have waned indeed in Gondor if they speak evil now of Lothlorien,” Aragorn replied. “Few indeed pass through unchanged, but that does not make this place evil. Stay or go as you please, Boromir, but there is no other way for this Company – unless you wish to skirt this forest and swim Anduin alone.”

 

Boromir growled but raised no further objections. “Lead on then, but should peril befall us, remember I told you thus!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

They entered the forest and walked for some time, Legolas entertaining them along the way with tales of Lorien that the Mirkwood Elves told. They forded the Nimrodel stream without any trouble, and Legolas switched to songs and stories of Amroth and Nimrodel, a pair of Elven lovers, the latter of whom had given the river its name. After fording the river, Aragorn led them off the path, moving further into the trees until they found a group of them with thicker trunks than the rest.

 

“These will do,” said Aragorn. “We'll need to sleep in the branches tonight if we want to avoid Orcs.”

 

“_Mellyrn_,” Legolas breathed. “I never thought I would ever see one with my own eyes. I shall climb it and see what its shape and manner of growth are, and if we may sleep comfortably in it.”

 

“Unless it's miraculously grown into the shape of several king-size beds, the answer to that is no,” Draco muttered quietly to Hermione, who nodded in response. A night spent in tree branches listening out for Orcs did not strike any of them as restful.  Of course, things then proceeded to take a turn for the unexpected, when a voice rang out from the tree.

 

“_Daro!_” the speaker ordered, and Legolas, who had grabbed a lower branch and prepared to swing into the higher ones, immediately let go and dropped to his knees.

 

“Stay where you are, do not move or speak and _definitely_ do not go for your weapons!” Legolas hissed. Boromir, Harry and Ginny all immediately released their grip on sword and wands. Legolas called up to the hidden speaker in Elvish and received a response in the same.

 

“What's he saying?” Ginny whispered to Luna.

 

“I'm not sure, their dialect is different to the one I know!” Luna whispered back. “But I think he's telling them not to hurt us, we're elf-friends. I'm not sure what the other one said back though, he was talking too fast to hear properly.”

 

“Golden-haired one, I was telling the son of Thranduil that you all breathe so loudly, I could have shot you in the dark,” came the response. “But have no fear, we have heard of you and your journey. We would never have suffered you to cross the Nimrodel had we not. Legolas, come up and bring with you the one who seems to know our tongue.”

 

“M-me?” Luna felt herself going pink. This was not how she'd expected things to go. Harry, it should be Harry and maybe Ginny going up there, right? Right?

 

“Yes, you, golden-haired one.” The Elvish voice sounded rather amused at this. Seconds later, a grey stepladder descended. Legolas indicated for her to go first.

 

Trying not to look as terrified as she felt, Luna began to climb.

 

It took longer than she anticipated – the tree was a tall one – but finally she reached the top of the ladder, where it led on to a wooden platform built into the topmost branches of the mallorn.

 

Three Elves all clad in grey sat on the platform, watching her intently, almost blending in with the tree. One rose to his feet as she approached, producing a small lamp and studying her intently.

 

“_Mae dh'ovannen, dithen firiel. Man i eneth dhîn?_”

 

Luna knew enough to know he was greeting her and asking her name.

 

“_Le suilon,_” she replied. “_Im Luna eston._”

 

She still couldn't get used to thinking of herself as Isileth, although she answered to it readily enough. Easier just to introduce herself as Luna, really.

 

The Elf smiled and bowed to her. “_Dhe nathlam hi, Luna._” He noticed Legolas climbing up onto the platform, and switched to the Common Tongue.

 

“Son of Thranduilas, be welcome. Both of you, be seated, you have clearly come far. Few dealings have we with other folk, not even our kindred in the North, and rarely do we speak any language but our own. I am one of the few who has retained knowledge of the tongues of other lands. My name is Haldir, Marchwarden of Lorien.  These are my brothers, Rumil and Orophin, but they speak little of the Western Tongue.” The other two Elves just nodded politely at her.

 

“It's good to meet you, Haldir,” said Luna. “But why did you want to talk to me out of all of us? There's far older and more powerful members of our group.”

 

“But you were the one they turned to when I spoke,” said Haldir. “So tell me, _Hiril _Luna, how did you learn the Sindar tongue? And is it true that you are a child with the gifts of the Istari?”

 

Luna nodded, producing her wand. “I learnt Sindarin from my mother – she's from a family that claims kinship with the Dunedain and Eldar, and has kept records. Of course, not all of them bothered learning the languages, in fact most of them never did, but her family libraries had plenty of books. As for the magic, that's true. _Lumos!_” Wandlight lit up the platform, and the three Lorien Elves gazed in wonder, before breaking out into rapid Sindarin amongst themselves, far too fast for Luna to even have a hope of following.

 

“We are impressed,” said Haldir. “Clearly Elrond's sons spoke truly when they passed through. We did have our doubts, and would have discounted the news entirely had Lady Galadriel not also sent orders to watch for you. For that reason, you and your friends may rest easily, Luna. We do not normally welcome strangers here, but we are willing to receive you as guests. Now, we counted nine of you coming in, although it is possible to be wrong in this light and from so high up – who are the others?”

 

“Four other children, who are friends to Luna here,” said Legolas. “Harry Potter, son of James, Lady Hermione Granger, Lady Ginevra Weasley and Draco Malfea, son of Lucius. Also two men, Boromir son of Denethor, of the line of the Stewards of Gondor, and Aragorn son of Arathorn of the Dunedain.”

 

“The son of Arathorn is known to us,” said Haldir. “He is most welcome here, as always. But you have only spoken of eight. Who is the ninth?”

 

For the first time since she'd met him, Legolas actually seemed nervous. “Ah. Er...”

 

“Thranduilion,” Haldir's voice practically purred, dripping with the texture of warm honey, “what are you not telling me?”

 

Legolas took a deep breath, sensing there was no help for it. “His name is Gimli son of Gloin.”

 

“Gloin?” Haldir frowned. “But that is no name of Men or Elves, that is a Dwarvish name-” Haldir stopped, realising the obvious implication. His face twisted with fury, reminding Luna uncomfortably of Lucius Malfoy. Sure enough, his next words were a stream of Sindarin directed at Legolas, of which Luna understood only a few words, one of which was _Naugrim_, an Elven word for Dwarves and not a terribly complimentary one. Legolas's expression changed from one of nervousness to one of anger.

 

“He is my friend!” Legolas snapped back in the Common Speech. Haldir abruptly stopped, and an uncomfortable silence fell as the two of them glared at each other.

 

Luna realised that someone would have to do something before the lecture on proper Elven pride started and it was clearly going to have to be her.

 

“Haldir, please!” Luna begged. “Elrond himself chose him to accompany us, and Gimli's been nothing but brave and loyal and trustworthy. He's as much a part of the Company as Legolas and I. You can't take us in and not him! Quite apart from anything else, you'd be abandoning him to Orcs and Wargs and Nargles and who knows what else, and he's done nothing to deserve that!”

 

Haldir sighed, clutching at his hair in frustration. “Luna, please understand, we do not take strangers in lightly at the best of times, and these times are more dangerous than most. And Dwarves... Luna, it was Dwarven greed that woke evil in the Hithaeglir and caused devastation for us all. And you ask us to welcome one as an honoured guest?”

 

“It is because these times are dangerous that I'm asking it!” said Luna. “Are Dwarves really more of an enemy to you than Mordor? Are we not all on the same side really? And do you really want to have to explain to Galadriel and Elrond that the Fellowship you were specifically told to watch out for and assist didn't get that assistance because they had a Dwarf with them?”

 

Haldir threw up his hands in exasperation and turned to his brothers. There were sharp words exchanged between all three, most of which Luna didn't understand, apart from Rumil asking in a puzzled voice “_Man i Narglath?_” and Haldir irritably replying “_Ú-iston, den ú-ídhron._” Surprising, one would have expected Elves to know what Nargles were. Maybe they didn't have them in Lorien.

 

Orophin then interrupted and suggested something, at which Rumil shrugged and nodded at Haldir, appearing to agree, saying something that included the names of Galadriel and Elrond and the words “_Ú-drasta gwîn_”, which Luna took to mean something along the lines of 'not our problem'. Haldir seemed to consider this and then nodded, before turning to Legolas and asking him some questions. Oddly, Aragorn's name came up. Legolas smiled and replied in the affirmative to the first two, but frowned at the third, questioning Haldir in return. Haldir stood firm, however, and Legolas sighed and agreed. Haldir nodded and turned back to Luna.

 

“Very well, Luna, you have your wish. We do not like this, but if Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel favour him, we can but do as they desire. If Aragorn and Legolas will guard the Dwarf and answer for his actions, we shall let him through. But he must wear a blindfold through Lothlorien until Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn themselves allow him to remove it.”

 

“I tried to talk him out of that one,” said Legolas apologetically. “But it was that or nothing.”

 

Luna had the feeling Gimli wasn't going to like that idea, but at least they were all being allowed in, and that was something.

 

“Alright,” said Luna. “We'll keep an eye on him, make sure he's no trouble.”

 

“Very good,” said Haldir. “And now you must all get off the ground. We have had reports of Orcs and wolves around the edges of the woods for days. It is certainly not safe for your friends to remain on the ground. The tree next to ours has another talan with plenty of supplies – Legolas, you will need to climb up there and lower the ladder for the others. If you stay there with Aragorn, this Boromir, the boy Istari Harry and Draco, and the Dwarf, and the two _hiril _Istari climb up here to stay with Luna, that will be best, I think.”

 

Legolas agreed to this and disappeared back down the ladder to carry word to the others. Shortly after, Ginny and Hermione arrived, bringing Luna's pack with them as well as their own.

 

“Is this it?” asked Hermione, looking disdainfully at the wooden platform, bereft of much in the way of comfort.

 

“I assure you, it has all the comforts you are likely to need,” Haldir replied frostily. “Including the benefit of safety from Sauron's minions.”

 

“Oh!” Hermione put her hand to her mouth, not having seen the Elves at first.

 

“Hermione, Ginny, this is Haldir and he can speak Westron,” said Luna cheerfully. “The others are Rumil and Orophin, and they can't. But they're all perfectly friendly when you get to know them.”

 

“Er, hello,” said Hermione faintly. “I don't suppose there's any way of keeping warm up here, is there? It's just it's rather colder than on the ground and I was hoping for a bed...”

 

Haldir softened a little. “Of course, you are children of Men, you will feel the chill more than we do. Fear not, we have cloaks and furs to spare in plenty. Also we have food and drink which will help warm you, if you are hungry.”

 

“We would love some, thank you,” said Ginny, beaming. Sure enough, the Elven supper provided made up entirely for the Spartan nature of the talan, and not long after, the three witches had made up a king-size bed of blankets, cloaks and furs and curled up together inside it, as warm as if they were back at Hogwarts.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Meanwhile, on the other talan, the six males of the Fellowship were settling in after a much appreciated supper of Elven food supplies, and were making use of the spare furs provided for makeshift beds. Legolas had curled up next to Gimli without even a word being said, and the Dwarf had looked surprised and flattered. Aragorn and Boromir had settled down next to each other with an unspoken agreement that each would keep unwaveringly to his half, which left Harry with Draco.

 

Draco, for his part, had made a surprisingly comfortable nest out of assorted cloaks, blankets and furs, laced with a good array of Warming Charms, and was now huddling into it.

 

“Come on, Potter, are you coming to bed or what?” Draco asked.

 

“Just so we're clear, this is solely so we don't freeze,” said Harry as he climbed in alongside the other boy.

 

“Believe me, Potter, you're not my type. Your virtue is quite safe with me,” Draco snorted. “Although I do think it's rather romantic of you, wanting to save yourself for Weasley.”

 

“Piss off, Malfoy,” said Harry, but the words lacked their usual force. At length, he spoke up again in a whisper.

 

“Do you reckon the girls are all right over there?”

 

“I'm sure they're fine,” Draco muttered. “Have we seen flashes of magic or heard screaming? No. Which means all is well and they're happily tucked up in bed. Sleeping. Oh how I envy them.”

 

“I know, but this is the first time we've all slept apart since Rivendell. It's weird not being able to see them.”

 

“Potter, Hermione can Apparate. In an emergency, I am sure she will grab Luna and Weasley and get out of there. They will be fine, please stop worrying and go to sleep,” Draco sighed.

 

Harry sighed and burrowed deeper into the furs. “I wish Ginny were here,” he said softly.

 

“Believe me, if I could swap with her right now, I would,” Draco muttered. “You get your girlfriend and I get some peace. Everyone's a winner.”

 

“She's not my girlfriend,” Harry muttered. “We're just... er...” Truth be told, he was no longer entirely sure what they were now. Spending half the afternoon with his head in her lap while she stroked his hair probably took them out of the friend category, but they'd not actually discussed it as such.

 

“Potter, you bawled your eyes out all over her, and then held hands all the way into Lorien. Personally, I'd say you were firmly in the boyfriend category by this point.” A pause. “Good lord, Potter, is that what this is about? Have you and she really not talked about it yet?”

 

“Since when have we had time, Draco?” Harry whispered back. “I've not had any time alone with her to ask!”

 

“God almighty,” Draco muttered. “Potter, Lorien is probably going to be as safe and danger-free as this entire quest is going to get. For the love of the Valar, get her alone and talk to her. Tomorrow. Or the day after. Or... soon...” Draco yawned, turning over and burrowing under the blankets. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

 

“Easy for you to say,” Harry muttered. “You were probably trained in the art of courtship as soon as you were out of nappies.” Still, there was nothing he could do tonight, and he was tired. Curling up in bed with thoughts of Ginny in on his mind, he was soon sleeping soundly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry woke later that night, disturbed by noise in the distance, the sound of running feet and metal chinking. Legolas was sitting awake by the edge of the talan, staring into the distance with a frown.

 

“What is it?” Harry whispered.

 

“Orcs,” came the response. “Many of them, from the sounds of it. I am glad we were not on the ground.”

 

“What if they realise we're here?” Harry asked. “Can they climb?”

 

Legolas nodded. “They can. But I think they are heading in a different direction, and if that is the case, we need not fear. I think our friends in Lorien will ensure they give no further trouble.” There was a cold light in Legolas's eyes as he said this, and Harry was reminded that for all the Elves were a kind and compassionate species to their allies, they were utterly merciless to those they considered their enemies.

 

However, he didn't have long to think of this. There was a scrabbling sound from the tree trunk beneath them. Harry hoped it was one of the Elves, but the hairs prickling on the back of his neck said otherwise. Legolas raised a finger to his lips and unslung his bow, fitting an arrow to it and carefully aiming down the trunk.

 

Harry drew his wand and looked down through the entry hole.

 

Below him, two pale eyes stared up at him. Harry remembered the eyes he'd thought he'd seen in Moria only last night (had it really been only last night?) and realised he'd not been imagining them at all.

 

In the next minute, the eyes were gone, a shadowy figure slipping down and away. Not long after that, an Elf came climbing through branches.

 

“Thranduilion!” the Elf hissed, stopping when he saw Harry. Legolas smiled and lowered his bow, laying it aside and motioning for Harry to do the same with his wand.

 

“Haldir,” Legolas replied, choosing to use the Common Speech. “We are well; come up. This is Harry son of James, one of the boy Istari.”

 

Haldir nodded to Harry as he climbed onto the talan. “Well met, son of James. I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lorien.”

 

“It's good to meet you,” said Harry. “There was something trying to climb the tree before you came up – did you see what it was? Was it an Orc?”

 

“It was no Orc,” said Haldir, his face darkening. “I know not what it was. I would have shot it, but I could not risk noise. There were many Orcs in Lorien this night – we could not risk open battle with them, but we were able to lead them astray, deeper into the forest.”

 

“But if they go deeper into Lorien, won't they find where your people live?” Harry asked.

 

Haldir just smiled coldly. “I sent Orophin ahead to warn them. The Orcs will not see daylight again, and by tomorrow night, there will be countless Elves on this border. Fear not, Harry, we are well-defended. But you must not remain here. I will remain here to keep watch, in case the creature returns, and when it is fully light, you will need to go south with us.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Day broke, and as the sun rose, the Fellowship regrouped on the ground. Haldir, Legolas and Aragorn were gathered in a group, having an animated discussion in Sindarin about the day's plans, with Rumil sitting quietly off to one side.

 

Harry looked up as the three witches climbed down from their tree, feeling his throat dry up as Ginny caught his eye and smiled.

 

_Draco's right, I need to talk to her about this, need to find out what's actually happening between us... _

_   
_

Ginny saved him the bother by sitting next to him, still smiling. “Hello,” she said, slightly out of breath from the climb down the tree, and reached out to place her hand over his.

 

“Er, hi,” Harry managed to say, feeling himself blushing. “How was it, did the Elves give you any trouble?”

 

“None whatsoever, they were perfectly lovely,” said Ginny. She was still studying him intently, shifting a little closer to him. “And you? How was it for you?”

 

“Apart from having to doss down next to Malfoy, you mean?” laughed Harry, trying not to sound nervous and failing. “I've had worse nights, all told.” A pause.  Ginny was looking expectantly at him, and Harry could feel his insides churning with terror. Apparently he was capable of planning and leading a raid on the Ministry and fighting Death Eaters with no qualms whatsoever, but having a conversation with a girl he liked was terrifying the life out of him. _This is ridiculous_, he told himself. _Am I a Gryffindor or not? _ He decided to take the plunge.

 

“Would have been better with you there though,” he said, praying quietly that this would not prove to be a horrible mistake, and casually placing an arm around her shoulders. “I missed you.”

 

Ginny's eyes widened, and for a horrible moment Harry thought she might actually start to cry, and then she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled in close to him.

 

“I missed you too,” she said softly, and Harry could only hug her back and fight down the urge to shout for joy and do a victory lap around the clearing. There was only one thing at the back of his mind pricking at his conscience.

 

“Erm, weren't you dating Michael Corner before we left Hogwarts? And, er, is he going to mind us doing this?”

 

Ginny sighed. “I was,” she admitted. “But the afternoon before we left, we had a massive row. Apparently he reckoned I was 'showing him up' by having the nerve to be better on a broom than he was, and making the Gryffindor team while he got turned down by Ravenclaw's side, and that if I was a proper girlfriend, I'd resign off the team and stop reminding him about Quidditch the whole time.”

 

Harry couldn't even begin to fathom the logic, or lack of, behind those thought processes. “That's... really really stupid. I'm sorry Ginny, but Michael Corner is an idiot.”

 

“Don't apologise,” said Ginny cheerfully. “I called him much, much worse when I dumped the bastard. That's why Luna was in Gryffindor Tower that night, by the way, I wanted someone to bitch to about the whole thing and invited her over. She said she'd always thought he was suffering from Wrackspurt possession, and that just proved it.”

 

“So basically, Michael Corner is to blame for us all ending up in the Library together and getting sent here,” said Harry. “He really is a tosser then.”

 

Ginny nodded fervently. “He is. Never used to like me swearing either, always said it was unladylike.”

 

“Well,” said Harry, all nervousness gone and feeling like he could run to Mordor and back that afternoon if he wanted, “you can swear around me as often as you like. And I don't care if you are better on a broom than I am.”

 

Ginny beamed at him. “I'm totally keeping you. You're going to be an awesome boyfriend.”

 

Harry hugged her back, unable to keep from grinning. While he would never have chosen to come to Middle Earth, if it meant he got a girlfriend out of it, he wasn't going to complain.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

On the other side of the clearing, Boromir scowled as he sharpened his sword with more vehemence than was strictly necessary.

 

“So we are to be treated to displays of this nature all the way to Mordor, are we?” he muttered, shooting venomous glances at the young couple.

 

“Boromir!” said Hermione. “She's liked him for years, it's about time they got together. I think it's sweet.”

 

“Sweet indeed to know that they owe it all to me,” said Draco, grinning. “I told Potter that she liked him back in Moria. Nice to know he's not as slow on the uptake as I thought.”

 

“Why am I not surprised that you are to blame, wizard boy?” Boromir growled, his whetstone slicing down his sword blade with unnecessary force. “Truly, do you take delight in nothing more than causing vexation and torment to the rest of us?”

 

“Everyone needs a hobby,” said Draco calmly, leaning back in the sun with his arms behind his head.

 

“Don't pay any mind to him, Draco,” said Luna peacefully as she made herself a daisy chain necklace. “He's just angry because he doesn't have anyone.”

 

Boromir made no answer other than a grunt, but his scowl deepened. Support came from a surprising quarter.

 

“Among Dwarves, such displays of wanton caressing would be considered unspeakably unseemly,” said Gimli.

 

“Gimli, they're just cuddling,” said Hermione. “What's unseemly about that?”

 

“Everything!” Gimli cried. “Dwarves don't touch each other like that if they can help it! Why, the most happily married couples among us barely even speak to each other unless they have to.”

 

“But how do they get married in the first place then?” Hermione couldn't help but wonder.

 

“Well, after both sets of parents have opened negotiations and given their permission, the groom builds a suitable home for them to live in and then makes her some bride-gifts of jewellery. Then he presents her with them, and if she's impressed, they get married. Perfectly simple. None of this public kissing nonsense.”

 

“You mean to say whether a marriage happens or not is all down to whether the husband can make his wife pretty jewellery, not love or companionship or anything like that?” Hermione asked, amazed.

 

Gimli sighed, looking at her as if she was a little bit simple. “Lassie, we're Dwarves. Why on Arda would a Dwarf-maid look twice at someone who couldn't even provide the most basic of treasures for his bride?”

 

“Some would say love itself is the greatest treasure,” said Luna softly, watching Harry and Ginny with a wistful look in her own eyes. Gimli just grunted.

 

“Elven nonsense,” he said dismissively. Hermione looked like she was about to argue, but the conversation between Aragorn and the Elves had broken up, and it looked like they were about to move on.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The journey into Lorien proved to be the most pleasant part of the journey so far. The sun was bright, if cold, there was birdsong in the air, and the ground was soft underfoot. They followed the Silverlode at first, until the trees parted a little and Haldir went to the bank itself, whistling like a bird. On the far side of the river, another Elf stepped out of the shadows, clad in the same grey colours that Haldir wore.

 

Haldir produced a rope from his backpack, and knotted one end securely around the base of a tree, before hurling the other end across the river. The other Elf caught it and secured it around a tree at his end.

 

“In these days of trouble, we do not build bridges, it is too dangerous,” Haldir explained. “Yet the Silverlode is cold and deep, and we do not set foot in it this far north.”

 

“So how do you cross?” Ginny asked. Haldir just smiled.

 

“Watch,” he replied. He stepped on to the rope and ran across it without either looking down or losing his balance, reached the other side and then ran back.

 

Eight faces had all gone a little pale.

 

“You can't possibly expect us to do that,” said Hermione faintly.

 

“It's alright for you, you could Apparate,” said Ginny. Hermione shook her head.

 

“I can't, I don't have co-ordinates, and there's not a clear space to land. It's too easy to splinch myself.”

 

“Which is why we have more than one rope,” said Haldir, producing another one. He tied it to the tree at shoulder-height and crossed the river again, securing the end. “You should be able to cross now!” he called.

 

And so the Fellowship made the attempt, Legolas crossing without even touching the second rope, and everyone else managing with various levels of speed and caution.  Finally, they had all made it over, and Haldir unfastened the ropes, throwing them across the river back to Rumil, who gathered them in, waved goodbye and disappeared.

 

“And now,” said Haldir, “be welcome to the Naith of Lorien, that lies between the rivers Celebrant and Anduin. Few who are not of the Eldar are permitted to even set foot here, and we tolerate no spies. Now, as was agreed, I shall blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf. You others may walk freely for a while, at least until we come near our dwellings in the Egladil, or Angle, between the two rivers.”

 

“Blindfold?” cried Gimli. “I agreed to no such thing! I will not be led in blind like some prisoner! Nor am I a spy. I am a Dwarf of the Lonely Mountain, and we have no dealings with the Enemy, nor have we ever brought harm to Elves. I am a loyal member of this Company and insist on being treated as such! If the others are not to be blindfolded, then I will not!”

 

“I knew this would happen. A plague on Dwarves and their stiff necks!” Legolas muttered to himself.

 

“Dwarf,” Haldir growled. “I have done much in letting you even this far. I cannot set aside the laws of Lorien on my own!”

 

“Then I will seek my own land,” Gimli growled in response, meeting Haldir's gaze without flinching. “At least there I am known to be a Dwarf of my word, even if I perish alone in the wild!”

 

“You would perish rather sooner than that,” Haldir replied, amused. “There are sentries all along that path we took, although you did not see them. You would not make it out of Lorien. No, you must come with us to be seen by the Lord and Lady, and they shall decide on your fate.”

 

Gimli reached for his axe. Haldir and the other Lorien Elf reached for their bows, and things might have turned nasty had not Aragorn intervened.

 

“Come, this will not do. One disagreement and we are all squabbling like children and going for our blades? If Gimli must be blindfolded, then so will we all. It is the only fair way.”

 

This time it was Legolas's turn to be angry. “I am a Wood Elf and kin to the Elves here!” he cried. “I will not be blindfolded among my own people!”

 

“And now shall we cry: A plague on the stiff necks of Elves!” said Aragorn pointedly. “Are we all one Fellowship or not?”

 

“Legolas, you said he was your friend,” said Luna, the reproof clear on her face. Slowly the anger faded from Legolas's face.

 

“I did,” Legolas sighed. “Very well, I shall wear one. Alas for the folly of these days!”

 

“Aye, and I wish too that it were otherwise,” Haldir sighed, seemingly genuinely dismayed at needing to do this. “But we dare not endanger our own land through misplaced trust. We are an island amidst much peril, and our hands are more often on the bowstring than the harp.”

 

So saying, he blindfolded them all, and they travelled through the woods. The going was slow, but the ground was smooth and the weather fine, and it was not as unpleasant as it could have been. Still, they travelled all day, and even when they rested for the night, they were unable to take off the blindfolds.

 

It was not until noon the next day when they passed into an open area with the Sun beating down, that many voices were suddenly heard and Haldir bid them all be seated while he spoke with the newcomers.

 

It transpired that they were an Elven troop on its way to reinforce the northern borders of Lorien, and they brought news. The Orcs that had ventured in after the Fellowship were all either dead or being pursued westwards. The strange creature that had tried to climb into Harry's talan had been sighted, and had fled south along the Silverlode. Best of all however was a message from Galadriel and Celeborn themselves.

 

“You are all to walk free, even Gimli. The Lady knows of you and your purpose and bids you welcome here.” Haldir removed the bandage personally from Gimli's eyes, and as the others lifted the bandages from their own eyes, they were amazed to see Haldir kneeling before the Dwarf in penitence.

 

“My sincere apology, son of Gloin. Be welcome here, drink in the sight and be glad, for you are the first of your people to see the Naith of Lorien since Durin's Day!”

 

Gimli, blinking, looked around in amazement, taking in the silver-gold mallorns, and the open grassy meadow studded with small yellow flowers and slightly larger white and green ones. On their left was a grassy mound, and the trees on the top of it towered over the rest of the forest for miles around. High in the branches of the central tree was a white wooden treehouse, or flet as the Elves called it.

 

“This place is beautiful,” Gimli whispered. “Friend Haldir, for bringing me here, I will forgive you every slight.”

 

Haldir got to his feet, bowing. “Friend Gimli, I thank you. This place is Cerin Amroth, heart of the ancient realm of Lorien as it was, and once where the house of Amroth could be found among the golden _elanor_ and pale _niphredil_. We will rest here for now, my friends. When the sun sets, I will bring you on to Caras Galadhon, our fair city.”

 

Theywere only too glad to take him up on this, and soon all of them were lying on the grass, while Luna went so far as to kick off her shoes and start making a crown of yellow elanor flowers for herself, and a second crown of white niphredil for Draco. It was a mark of how relaxed Draco was feeling that he didn't turn it down or mock her for it.

 

“Do you want one as well, Boromir?” Luna asked. Boromir shook his head.

 

“I am no king or prince,” he replied. “I need no crown, fair though it may be. Leave your flowers for me in the ground, Lady Luna.”

 

Luna reached out and plucked an elanor flower, tucking it into Boromir's cloak pin.

 

“Here,” she whispered. “A crown you'll never wear, but Elbereth shall send you a flower fairer than this one, and then you won't be lonely any more.”

 

“Who said I am lonely, Luna?” Boromir snorted. “I have your prattle to amuse me and wizard boy to make his non-stop witty remarks at all our expenses. With companions such as these, why, I lack for nothing.”

 

“He has been like this since we entered Lorien,” said Draco. “Some say it is because he is worried about his homeland. Others that he is remembering Gondorian nursery tales of the Lady of the Golden Wood stealing away naughty children. Me, I say it is because Lord Boromir has not had a lady friend in some considerable time and now has to watch Potter and Weasley holding hands and making cow eyes at each other all the way to Mordor.”

 

Boromir muttered something about 'fool wizards who did not know when to keep their mouths shut' and 'should have pushed you in the Silverlode when I had the chance', and pointedly turned his back on them all. However, he fingered the flower Luna had given him thoughtfully, and her words stayed in his mind long after the flower itself had withered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It says much about me that Moria was a chore to write, but Lorien is practically singing from my keyboard. With any luck the next chapters will be easier to write! Also I'm going to see if the action can't switch back to Hogwarts for a while at some point soon too.
> 
> It's also going to be Harry/Ginny. Sorry about that, but you try saying no to Ginny when she wants something. At least there's no chest-monsters?
> 
> Notes on the Elvish:
> 
> Daro = halt  
> Mellyrn = plural of mallorn  
> Mae dh'ovannen = well met (in the Doriath dialect used in Lorien)  
> dithen firiel = young (human) maiden  
> Man i eneth dhîn? = what is your name?  
> Le suilon = a formal greeting in the Rivendell dialect that Luna knows  
> Im Luna eston = I'm called Luna  
> Dhe nathlam hi = we welcome you here  
> Hiril = lady  
> Thranduilion = son of Thranduilas  
> Naugrim = literally 'stunted ones'  
> Man i Narglath? = what are Nargles?  
> Ú-iston, den ú-ídhron = I don't know, I don't want to (lit. I don't have knowledge, I don't want it.)  
> Ú-drasta gwîn = no trouble of ours, or no concern of ours


End file.
